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Collected by Djian
updated dec 5 2007

Another HarryBerg story | Ivy League Sluts

Part 1 | Part 2

Mob Movies
by HarryBerg (HarryBerg01 (at) aol (dot) com)


Tom Meade’s gambling leads him to the local black mobsters. They force him to include his beautiful wife Corrine in their plan to film the gang rape of the wives and daughters of other gamblers. Morgan, a menacing black thug, takes his pleasure from humiliating Tom by forcing Corrine to have sex with him while Tom watches and eventually participates. Over time, sex with Morgan and his gang changes becomes a different type of addiction for Tom and Corrine. When Morgan is killed, they find themselves adrift sexually until they learn of an exclusive club where white married couples are sexually used and humiliated by blacks.

Chapter 1 Not the Beginning



“Jesus, who’s she,” I blurted out when Quarles’ men pulled the laundry bag off her head?

Morgan’s head snapped around in my direction. “Shut up, asshole.”

I’d only opened my mouth because I was surprised. The other women Quarles’ crew had brought were older, wives and girl friends. This one was wearing a Purdue sweatshirt and a plaid miniskirt. I recognized the plaid. It lined the expensive raincoat Corrine had bought me for Christmas.

Corrine started to say something but thought better of it. She knew Morgan would like nothing better than for one of us to run off at the mouth and give him a reason to do some damage to our physiognomy. Slapping us around was something he obviously enjoyed.

“What’s her name,” I asked. It was a question I was allowed. I couldn’t direct her unless I knew her name.

“Cheryl, she’s a college girl,” said Morgan looking pissed he had to answer.

She was still out of it. They must have drugged her. That was different. The others had been awake, tied with duct tape but Cheryl’s arms and legs were free.

They dropped her on the bed and her skirt flew up. One of Jerome’s crew must have checked her out because her white cotton panty was pushed to one side.

Morgan was on the situation in an instant. “Any of you fucks do anything with her,” asked Morgan sounding more than pissed?

“No, Morgan, we just took a look at her coochie. We only looked. She’s got a full bush,” said Jerome the driver of the green panel truck who brought her to my place and the second-in-command of the crew after Morgan. He lifted her skirt to illustrate his point.

“That better be all, motherfucker,” said Morgan stepping closer to the girl then reaching down to grab the crotch of her cotton panty and yank it further to one side. The girl moaned when Morgan touched her.

Jerome was right about the bush. In an age when pre-teens to grandmothers shaved their pubic region, Cheryl was an exception. She had a thick mat of luxuriant black hair that appeared to have never seen a razor.

She was pretty. And from what I could tell had a good figure, at least the legs were long and slender. I would have guessed Mediterranean heritage based on the curly black hair and facial features, maybe Greek or Italian.

Morgan parted her labia and felt around then gave up. “She’s dry,” he said as he needlessly wiped his fingers on her skirt.

Everyone breathed easier. If he’d pulled a come soaked finger out of her cunt, one or more of Jerome’s crew would be dead. What’s worse, Corrine and I would be witnesses.

“Like Jerome said, Morgan, we only copped a feel, honest, man. We just checked her out,” said Jamal, Jerome’s younger but larger brother.

“Next time, don’t look and don’t touch,” said Morgan in a tone of pure menace. Morgan was barely larger than average in size but he was one scary son-of-a-bitch.

“Right, you got it,” said Jerome. The blacks behind him all nodded their agreement.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind Jerome and his crew would keep their hands off the merchandise in the future. Messing with Morgan could lead to a very unpleasant death.

“We better get started,” I said glancing at my watch. I should have been tired since I’d already worked a twelve-hour day but having Morgan around was like sucking down a case of Red Bull. Fear is a hell of energy drink.

“Before we begin, Corrine needs to make sure she’s still cherry,” said Morgan.

“I thought you said she went to Purdue,” I said assuming wrongly virgins weren’t accepted at good colleges.

“She’s supposed to be a cherry. Make sure, Corrine,” said Morgan.

“How would I do that,” asked Corrine a slight tone of exasperation creeping into her voice. “You should have asked her before you knocked her out.”

“As I recall, the female is born with a cap on her hole,” said Morgan in his typical don’t you dumb ass white people know anything voice. “Word has it Cheryl here has kept her knees together.”

“It’s called a hymen and it’s not unusual for girls to tear it in ways other than sexual intercourse. Gymnasts rip theirs on the balance beam. I know I did. Or she may have borrowed her mother’s vibrator and taken her own virginity,” said Corrine in her schoolteacher’s voice she used when she wanted to irritate Morgan. Corrine had taught middle school before we decided it would be better if she joined my business.

As for irritating Morgan, I was under the impression our breathing the same air irritated him. He was black. We were white. That was as far as it went where Morgan was concerned. He got his kicks messing with Corrine while I watched. Fucking a white man’s wife while the poor bastard stood by, angry and helpless, was undoubtedly a happy moment in Morgan’s life.

“Check it out, I said,” said Morgan in a tone indicating further argument might result in the loss of her front teeth.

Corrine shrugged then walked to the bed and sat down by Cheryl. Then she stood up, reached under the bed for the fisherman’s tackle box where she kept make-up and other things she needed to make adult films.

“We ain’t got all fucking day, Corrine,” said Morgan.

My wife didn’t answer just opened the box and took out a tube of a lubricant. The product was called ‘Wet’. It was water-based, odorless, and colorless. And to be honest, my favorite among the lubricants Corrine purchased. A woman’s sex should smell and taste natural not like raspberry, strawberry or even worse, mango.

Corrine coated her fingers. She used one hand to part Cheryl’s labia as she tried to get her finger past the entrance we all know is there but sometimes hard to find especially when it’s concealed in a forest of pubic hair. Jerome’s team closed in around the bed like black vultures waiting for the lioness to get her fill of the dead wildebeest. The fact Cheryl was young and attractive had them anxious to get started with her.

“She’s small and tight,” said Corrine squirting Wet directly on Cheryl’s opening.

“She’ll be big and lose when we’re done with her,” said Kelso causing the others to laugh. Kelso was what my parents would have called a mulatto. A shade lighter and he could pass for white.

“Spit on it,” suggested Mel, Jerome’s cousin from Back East where as he once mentioned to Corrine, he was wanted on some felony rape bullshit.

Ignoring Mel, Corrine worked her finger pass the opening. It disappeared up to the first knuckle and stopped. Her face got a thoughtful expression as she moved her finger around.

“She’s still got her hymen,” said Corrine unable to hide the look of surprise on her face. I suppose the possibility of an active college age female retaining the membrane struck her as remote. Her remarks about losing hers on the balance beam were consistent with what she told me when we first started getting serious enough to share secrets.

“I was eleven when my foot missed the beam and down I went like a stone, straddling four inches of solid oak covered with a thin sheet of foam. I felt something tear inside me. It hurt so bad I fainted. It was much worse than when I let Bobbie Edmonds deflower me for real.”

When I escorted Corrine to her high school reunion, I got to meet the Robert Edmonds who had dated and deflowered my wife. He’d picked up a few pounds since graduation. We got along great. I told Corrine it was because we had something in common. She was not amused.

“We got ourselves a genuine white cherry, boys,” said Jerome, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

I suppose breaking a female’s cap is a rare treat for any male unless you’re an African king or an Arab sheik. I’ve certainly never done it. And if she’s white from a well off family and you’re a black man from the ghetto, it must be the nothing short of getting early parole.

Morgan stepped away, took out his cell and made a call. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. My guess is he was reporting to Mr. Quarles Cheryl still had her virtue.

Nothing happened until Morgan completed his call.

“Corrine, shave her cunt while Tom set’s up,” said Morgan flipping the phone closed.





Chapter 2 Background





There really wasn’t much for me to do. I’d shot a commercial for Earl’s Discount Furniture that same morning and the cameras and lighting were still in place. Eight hours ago, Earl Buncombe had sat on that very bed with his granddaughter in his lap and informed his viewers the king sized canopy bed, nightstands, and dressers could be purchased at the ridiculous low price of nine hundred and ninety nine dollars. Per Earl, it was an incredible bargain and could be found at any of his five locations in the Greater Indianapolis area.

I’m Thomas Meade, owner along with the bank, of Meade Media. Catchy right? Up until about a year ago, I was doing well but things had gone wrong and it was my fault. I need to tell you a few things.

After I graduated college with a business degree and accepted my ROTC commission as a second lieutenant, I spent a year in the Middle East following real soldiers around with a video camera. I commanded a small group of videographers whose job was to make a video record of the war. They say the Army can teach you a profession and in my case it did. Shooting video turned out to be something I liked and according to my colonel was damn good at.

I returned home to Indianapolis when I finished my ROTC commitment. I lucked into an entry-level job at Carter Graphics, a local company specializing in making television commercials and print advertisements. Old man Carter took a liking to me. His wife had passed on and his only son had been killed in a hunting accident. I worked my tail off for five years then one day he collapsed in his office. It was one of those heart attacks where you’re dead before you hit the floor, a massive myocardial infarction. Not a bad way to go in my opinion.

Still I was shocked when the probate lawyer called to say he’d willed the business to me. I was a small business owner at thirty years of age.

I changed the company name and threw myself into the business working sixteen-hour days. Over the next five years, sales increased three hundred percent. Meade Media got a reputation for being creative, on time, high quality and reasonable. I expanded our reach, capturing my share of out of town and even out of state accounts.

Some friends introduced me to Corrine. She was seven years younger than me, recently divorced, no children. The fact she was a former Miss Indiana who kept her figure by following yoga and Pilate’s regimens that would challenge a Navy Seal made me want to get her in bed the moment we met.

But she had other ideas like insisting we get to know each other before we hopped in the sack. It turned out she was right. We dated three months before we slept together. For the first time since I broke up with my college sweetheart I was in love and Corrine returned my affection. Six months later I asked her to marry me. We low keyed the wedding. Neither of us had much family. That was three years ago.

Two years after we were married, Corrine quit teaching and joined Meade Media. She made the excuse that since I worked all the time; it was her way of being with me. I think she was also tired of teaching school and all the bureaucratic hassle that makes up what we call public education these days.

Corrine’s smart and a fast learner. She handles all the scheduling, arranges for models and actors and is basically responsible for bringing everything together when we shoot a commercial. Wife or not, she is very good at her work.

The thing with Mr. Quarles has changed our relationship. Corrine has been made to do things she would never have conceived of doing before. She’s no prude but sticking her finger in a young girl’s vagina to confirm she’s still a virgin is definitely not native to Corrine’s character. But she’s been forced to do much worse. It’s definitely had an impact on what used to be a very respectable straight marriage.

We don’t talk about it but neither of us can see how things will ever go back to the way they were pre Quarles. Humpty Dumpty has fallen off the wall.



Chapter 3 Mr. Quarles Visits





So where did I go wrong you’re asking. It’s simple, really. I decided I was much shrewder than the professional gamblers who set the point spread for the Colts and the Pacers. Owning your own business allows you to write off things like good seats to home games. I started betting on the games I was attending. I rationalized having money on the game made sitting there a lot more exciting.

Over time my bets got larger. If I lost, I bet twice as much next time hoping to get it all back, a loser’s strategy. It got out of hand. One day I realized I owed more than a quarter million dollars and I didn’t have it.

Owing large sums to bookies AKA criminals is not a recipe for longevity. That’s how I met Mr. Alfred T. Quarles.

I was working late and alone. I was in my office worrying about my gambling debts. I hadn’t told Corrine. She’d been talking about getting pregnant, quitting work, and starting a family. That morning when I told my bookie he would have his money tomorrow, I got the impression he didn’t believe me. Maybe it had to do with the fact, he heard me say it a dozen times before. I was trying to face up to the prospect of telling Corrine I was going to have to take out a large loan to pay my debts and motherhood would have to wait.

I was drinking scotch and feeling sorry for myself when four black men appeared in my office. I wasn’t sure how they got in. The front door was supposed to be locked.

Two were obviously muscle since they looked like they played defensive line for the Colts. One other reminded me of the black movie star, Wesley Snipes, the one who made all the vampire films. He had an unmistakable aura of menace about him. His body language yelled I would just as soon kill you as look at you. As it turned out, Corrine and I would spend a lot of time with him but no matter how many hours we were together, he still scared the shit out of me.

But it was the oldest of the four who had my attention.

“I’m Alvin Quarles. This is my assistant, Morgan. You owe me money,” said the small black man who unbidden took a seat in front of my desk. He was obviously someone who paid attention to clothes and for a mobster had expensive taste. He dressed better than my banker. He looked positively elegant sitting there with one hand resting on his gold-headed cane. He was wearing a navy pin stripe suit that fit him perfectly. His red bow tie was one you actually had to tie. The only thing flashy was the diamond cuff links that if they were real could be hocked for this year’s Cadillac.

It took me a second to associate his visit to my gambling. Abe, the man I placed my bets with was white.

“I don’t have it but I am going to take out a loan and pay you. I just need a few more days,” I said.

He had a strange way of expressing himself, courteous but threatening. “Mr. Meade in my business, you occasionally have to set an example or people loose respect for you, especially if you’re a black man in a white man’s world. You understand what I’m saying, Mr. Meade?” said Mr. Quarles.

“I said you’d get your money in a couple of days,” sounding truculent. I considered myself a good businessman and hanging tough was part of my shtick. Plus I was a little drunk.

“But if I allow you to bring your debts current, others will assume they can also be in arrears for substantial periods. I will have to devote all my resources to collections. Do you understand my point, Mr. Meade?”

“Yes, I’m a college graduate,” I said the booze having made me stupid and sarcastic.

He ignored my sarcasm. “Unfortunately my family could not afford to send me to a place of higher education,” said Mr. Quarles in a very quiet polite voice.

“Look, I have to get home. You’ll get your money the day after tomorrow,” I said standing up.

“Your lovely wife Corrine must be waiting dinner for you,” said Mr. Quarles.

“My wife is not your concern,” I said getting pissed as I stepped out from behind the desk. That was when the muscles grabbed me. The thought things would get violent had not occurred to me. I was a businessman. We took each other to court for unpaid debts. I’d had to call my lawyer more times than I could remember.

They lifted me off the ground by my armpits and frog marched me into the open area where we filmed commercials. It was filled with sets used for video taping spots planned or recently finished. I was yelling for them to let me go or I would call the police.

The one named Morgan located a rope we used to raise or lower backdrops. They tied my wrists then tossed it over one of the ceiling beams and hauled me up to where my toes barely touched the floor. They stood back and watched for a few minutes as I tried to stand on my toes because my arms hurt. I was cursing them as I danced around. I was being about as dumb as a human can be. Then it really got scary.

Morgan unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants and boxers. At first I was screaming my head off for him to stop undressing me then I was screaming because Morgan’s hand was wrapped around my testicles and applying enough pressure to permanently change their shape.

He had hold of my cock in one hand and my balls in the other. It felt like he was trying to separate the two.

It hurt so bad I wanted to faint or vomit. Just when I thought the pain couldn’t get any greater, Morgan switched to where he was holding one nut in each hand. He’d alternated between crushing one then the other. Mr. Quarles had taken a seat in a nearby rocking chair, another Earl Buncombe special. He sat quietly rocking as his man put me through several of the most painful minutes of my life.

“That’s enough for now, Morgan,” said Mr. Quarles rocking back and forth.

Morgan gave my left nut a final flattening. It was several minutes before I recovered enough to beg them to stop. “As God is my witness, Mr. Quarles you will get your money.”

“You a church going man, Mr. Meade,” asked Mr. Quarles?

“No, but I mean what I say. I’ll go to Third National tomorrow and borrow the money. I promise I will.”

“I’m a deacon at Third Avenue A.M.E Zion, haven’t missed a Sunday service in over ten years,” said Mr. Quarles. “We have a wonderful new minister, Reverend Cochran. He likes to preach about being true to one’s self.”

Pain can sober you up and smarten you up all at once. “He’s right. I shouldn’t have gambled more than I could pay. I’ve learned my lesson. If you’ll just let me go this one time, I will pay you what I owe tomorrow.” I intended to go down to Third National and get down on my hands and knees and beg for a loan if that was what it took.

“You are patronizing me, Mr. Meade. You looking at this old nigger thinking you can fool his dumb ass by acting sorry. What do you think, Morgan?”

“I think we should cut his nuts off and make him swallow them,” said Morgan reaching into a pocket of his leather jacket for a switchblade.

When he pushed the button causing the blade to appear with a loud click, it was my signal to start to blubber. “God, no, please,” or something like that was all I could manage as Morgan knelt down in front of me and took hold of my right testicle.

“When respectable folks like you open their copy of the Star and see where a white man was found castrated in his place of business, they’ll make a note to call their bookie and make sure they don’t owe anything,” said Mr. Quarles.

I was muttering, “Oh God, oh Jesus,” as Morgan prepared to separate me from my balls. I could feel the blade against my scrotum.

“Or perhaps we can make some another arrangement. I just had a thought. Hold up, Morgan,” said Mr. Quarles delaying my emasculation. Maybe it was a last minute thought on his part or it was all planned out beforehand. I never found out.

Mr. Quarles thought for a moment before he spoke. “Are you open to other possibilities, Mr. Meade?”

I spoke with all the sincerity I could muster, “Anything, just name it.”

“I may be getting soft. However, violence of this sort strikes me as so antiquated. You agree, Mr. Meade?”

I would have agreed the world is flat and the sun revolves around the earth. “Yes, Mr. Quarles.”

“It attracts attention. And to be frank it’s become dated and a little boring. I’ve always prided myself on being modern. While I don’t have a fine college education like you, Mr. Meade, you would be impressed if you saw my operation. I have the latest in computers, servers, even a satellite connection to the sports book in Las Vegas and Atlantic City. A passel of clever black youths spend all their time making it work. They’re college graduates like you, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles.

All I could manage was a lame, “Technology is very important.” Morgan had relaxed his grip on my nuts but he hadn’t let go.

“I just linked up with an operation in Rio de Janeiro so I could take bets on soccer. Soccer’s the coming thing. Maybe one day, Indianapolis will have a professional soccer team. I might even invest in it when it happens.”

In spite of the throbbing pain from my swollen nuts I was paying attention. I wasn’t sure where he was going but if it meant I got to keep my balls I was going too. Mr. Quarles then took a different tack and threw me a curve. He had a way of keeping you off balance.

“Are you a racist, Mr. Meade?”

“No, I have three black employees. We don’t discriminate. We pay them the same as everyone else. Ask them about me. I treat them fairly.”

“I’m a racist. I don’t like white people.”

All I could manage was, “Oh.”

“White people shit on me all my life. I paid them back by taking their money and when they didn’t pay what they owe, taking their balls. But, being here in your place of business, I see an opportunity to make them pay in a way that will attract less attention and be more personally satisfying. You understand what I’m saying, Mr. Meade?”

He had me confused but I was in survival mode and smartening up. “Not fully, but if you explain it further, I will.”

Mr. Quarles took a look around at my equipment that was still set up from the day’s filming. “Do you have the latest technology here, Mr. Meade?”

“Yes, we’re on our third generation of digital video. Those Sony cameras are the highest resolution commercially available. They’re the same model used to make Hollywood movies. I just installed a new editing system to combine CGI with real images. All the lighting is polarized to support digital photography.” I was talking fast desperate to save my manhood.

“Calm down, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles.

I said, “Yes, sir,” and shut up. I was becoming a quick leaner.

“I am going to make you a proposition. I will allow you to pay your debt as soon as you can arrange a loan as long as it is no later than the day after tomorrow.”

I spoke without hesitating, “Agreed.” Meade Media was not leveraged and could serve as collateral. But all the profits for the next few years would have to go to re-paying the loan. Corrine would be justified to look for a divorce lawyer.

“Wait until I finish, please,” said Mr. Quarles.

“Sorry.”

“For being so generous in your case, I expect you to help me with others like you who believe they can gamble and lose but not pay.”

I spoke up, “I’m not a violent person.”

“You keep interrupting.”

I decided to keep my big mouth shut. “Terribly sorry, won’t happen again, Mr. Quarles.”

“From time to time, you and your wife will do a job for me. Morgan and one of my crews will bring a white woman here. Possibly, a white man, there are instances where the wife is the one who likes to gamble. They’ll perform with her or him sexually. Using your expertise and equipment, you’ll create a pornographic video of their performance and give me the only copy. They will be the stars of an adult film. With me so far, Mr. Meade?”

“Yes, I’m with you, Mr. Quarles, but Corrine doesn’t need to be involved and I’ve never made porn. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.” I’d been approached several times by sleazy types who wanted to use my facilities to make adult films. I threw them out of my office as soon as I found out what they wanted.

“Corrine will be involved because I say so. I understand she is a vital part of what you do here so you need her. She can be your fluffer. You can’t make an adult film without a fluffer. As for making porn, I’m sure you can master any difficulties associated with adult films. I’ve heard you tell your customers you like a challenge.”

“Suppose they go to the police, Corrine and I could be arrested.”

“I’ve been in business here over thirty years. I’ve gotten to know many of Indianapolis’ finest, especially the higher ups. I’ve helped them financially, not easy to get by on a policeman’s salary. I wouldn’t worry about the police but I would be concerned because if you fail me, you and your cock and balls will be in different parts of the city along with your wife’s tits. What say you, Mr. Meade?”

I didn’t have a choice, “I’ll do it.”

“You mean we’ll do it. After all, marriage is a partnership.”

I said, “Right, we’ll do it. Corrine will be there.” Although I had almost no hope she would agree to help me.

When Morgan untied the rope, I dropped to the floor and curled up in the fetal position, weeping. I half expected them to leave but everyone stood quietly as I slowly got myself together.

“There’s one more, small thing you can do for me, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles when I had gotten to my feet.

“Anything, Mr. Quarles, anything,” I said desperate to get them gone.

“Alex and Sidney have taken a fancy to you, Mr. Meade. They’re good boys and I occasionally like to give them a little perk. Are you up for that?” asked Mr. Quarles.

He had lost me other than I now knew the names of the two large well built men who were standing near by. It wasn’t my smartest performance not that my answer really mattered. “I will do anything I can.”

“Excellent, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles before announcing to the two, “He’s all yours.”

A minute later, I was sandwiched between the two. They were kissing me as they undressed me. Outside of once in middle school, I had never had a homosexual encounter. Neither had I ever had the urge to have sex with a man. But after everything I experienced in the last half hour, I wasn’t about to scream, “Get your fucking faggot hands off me.” Terrified I cooperated as best as I could.

Mr. Quarles and Morgan had taken a seat on a modular Italian leather sofa that was featured in an upcoming commercial. I had a sense it was some kind of test.

The idea that the two body builder types were gay hadn’t crossed my mind. They undressed themselves as they undressed me.

“Looks like an Oreo,” commented Mr. Quarles from his position on the couch.

He was right. I’m not muscular and the three of us must have resembled the sandwich cookie. In spite of Corrine’s entreaties, I don’t go to the gym. But I’m not fat either. At an even six foot and one hundred fifty pounds with fair skin thanks to my Nordic heritage, I was a sharp contrast to Alex and Sidney. They positioned me between them as their lips and hands roamed. I was a skinny ass white boy pinned between two ebony body builders each of whom has at least a hundred pounds on me.

Their tongues were busy and I was too scared shitless to do anything other than act like I was into it just as much as they were. Alex sucked my nipples and fondled my cock as Sidney poked his cock in my butt crack while turning my head to kiss my mouth and ears.

Morgan felt the need to break his usual silence and comment. “It makes you wonder how a faggot like that kept that good looking wife of his happy.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Meade is bisexual,” said Mr. Quarles.

When the three of us were naked, they led me over to a sectional sofa. For the second time in my life and the first time in adulthood, I put a cock in my mouth. I blew Alex while Sidney returned the favor.

Looking back on the experience I admit it could have been a hell of a lot worse. Honestly, a brutal homosexual rape would have seemed more likely. But the pair took it easy and I went along, not even protesting when they positioned me on all fours with my butt hanging off the edge for sodomy

From somewhere, Alex produced a tube of lubricant he applied to my anus before placing his finger aside. A second finger followed. I was lucky Corrine took a positive attitude to my liking of anal play. Her fingers and strap on dildo prepared me for what happened next.

I reached between my legs and jerked my cock as Alex’s cock head applied pressure to my sphincter. Two callused weight lifter hand gripped my flanks as he drove himself inside me.

It was a deep breath moment as pain momentarily gripped my rectum.

“Have you ever been cornholed by a nigger, Mr. Meade?” asked Mr. Quarles.

Talking while your bowel is trying to get used to a large object is not easy but I managed somehow. “No, this is a first for me by anyone, Mr. Quarles.” In my one previous gay moment, it was my cock in his ass.

“Lying motherfucker, that white boy’s ass is getting fucked regularly,” said Morgan.

Alex went inside until I felt his ball sack slap against mine. He pulled back then began a regular rhythm.

“Mr. Morgan here has a point. The last white boy about died when Alex cornholed him. You could here him scream all the way to downtown Indianapolis. Are you lying, Mr. Meade? Or do you have another explanation.”

“My wife uses a strap on dildo to fuck me in the ass,” was all I could manage between grunts. Sidney had gotten underneath the two of us and was sucking my cock while Alex fucked me. After a few minutes they stopped and switched positions.

“You white folks are one sick race,” said Mr. Quarles leaning back in the chair.

Mr. Quarles stayed quiet as his two henchmen fucked me in a half dozen positions. I won’t go into what it is like to suck a cock that five seconds before was buried deep in your asshole. It doesn’t taste great and it smells worse.

Sidney was the first to come in my ass. I sucked and licked his dick clean while Alex added his semen to my bowels. After Alex had deposited his load, I felt something warm and wet filling my gut. Christ, I realized, he’s pissing in my asshole.

“Give him the full treatment, Sid,” said Morgan. “Do the thing they do at the club.”

I had no idea what Morgan meant or what club he was talking about. Exhausted, sore, and still frightened out of my skull, I lay still as Sidney placed his mouth on my sphincter and sucked out the contents.

Moments later, his lips were glued to mine and his tongue forced it way inside my mouth along with a quantity of anal slime. There was nothing to do but swallow it as I felt Sidney’s lips surround my sphincter and extract a second mouthful.

After we repeated the kiss and swallow act, I was left to collapse. I lay immobile as I heard the two dressing behind me. I prayed it was over.

A cane poked me in the ribs. Mr. Quarles was standing by me. “Life isn’t ever going to be the same for you. Mr. Meade. You’ve been fucked by two niggers and that’s a big deal for a white man. You’ll be hearing from Morgan when we need you and your wife.”

They left leaving me to my misery. Thank God I made it to the toilet before the urine and semen enema caused me to empty my bowels with explosive force.

In spite of my condition, I managed to clean up the place before climbing into my car for the drive home where I had to face Corrine.











Chapter 4 Surprise! Corrine Agrees To Fluff





“An off-stage person hired to keep a male porn star in a state of erection, usually by performing orally,” read Corrine off the computer screen. She had just looked up the term, ‘fluffer,’ in a Web-hosted slang dictionary. “Do you realize what you agreed to?”

We were in our home office. My swollen testicles were resting against a cold pack. They were slowly getting better. The swelling was slowly going down. I’d just spent the absolute worst hour of my marriage telling Corrine about my gambling and my agreement with Mr. Quarles. I kept expecting her to get up and walk out or tell me to pack my bags and get out. But she had hung in so far.

I’d left out the part where I was sodomised by Alex and Sidney. It didn’t seem relevant. My asshole was sore. There was a wad of toilet paper stuffed in my butt crack to absorb the piss and come that slowly leaked out.

Corrine would have wanted to hear all the details and I was too embarrassed. Al Quarles was right about how being fucked by black men gave a white man a different perspective. I wasn’t the same proud asshole full of hubris that woke up that morning.

The term, fluffer, was unfamiliar to us. I suspected it didn’t mean anything pleasant. “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to cut my balls off and shove them down my throat. He said they would cut your breasts off.”

“So instead, you agreed your wife could suck off men so they could gang rape strangers while you made a porn flick,” said Corrine looking totally disgusted. I kept expecting her to tell me to vacate the premises permanently.

I said I was sorry for the fiftieth time. I was exhausted. Two Vicodin were barely controlling the pain in my scrotum. My butt was tender and I felt queasy when I thought about what I had swallowed.

Corrine leaned back in the desk chair looking up at the ceiling. “Be quiet for a minute and let me think.”

It was several minutes before she straightened up in the chair and gave me her decision.

“You are never to gamble again. I mean never. If I catch you spending a dollar on the state lottery, I’ll divorce you. If some kid come to the door selling raffle tickets for little league, you ask me first before you pull out your wallet. No, you send him my way and I will buy the tickets. Your gambling days are over.”

“I promise I will never gamble again. I swear it,” I said breathing a sigh of relief. She was going to help me. I didn’t doubt for one minute that if she didn’t show, my balls would not be with the rest of me.

“Be quiet. I’m not done,” snapped Corrine.

“Sorry.”

“I’ve been a decent person all my life. I don’t claim to be Mother Teresa but I have not acted like a slut. I’ve been faithful to you since we began our relationship. I haven’t even looked at another man since we married and there have been opportunities,” said Corrine.

I didn’t doubt men and maybe even women hit on Corrine at her health club. She was a beautiful woman with an incredible body.

“You’re very beautiful, Corrine,” I said. “Any man would be attracted to you.”

“Quiet, I’m still not done.”

“Sorry.” I was saying that a lot, today.

“You’re asking me to become a whore, a slut, in order to save your sorry gambling ass.”

“I know. I feel terrible about it. I argued with Quarles. Told him I could handle it alone but he said you had to be there. I didn’t have a choice. He threatened to hurt you too.”

“All right, I’ll help you; but if you ever disrespect me for anything I do or throw it up to me, I will cut your balls off and make you eat them. And I will use the dullest knife I can find.”

“I’d never disrespect you, Corrine. I love you,” I said.

“All right, I must love you too; but right now I can’t think of a single reason why.”



***



“It was over six weeks before Morgan called. I’d actually begun to hope Mr. Quarles had decided to drop the idea or really wasn’t serious about it in the first place. Maybe he was just yanking a white boy’s balls.

Two days after the visit, I’d handed Abe a briefcase containing almost a quarter of a million dollars. The bank manager gave me a knowing look when I asked for the loan in cash. Abe asked me if I wanted to place a bet on Sunday’s game but I politely declined.

Morgan’s call was brief. “I’ll be there at 9:00 to make sure everything’s ready. The crew will bring her sometime after 10:00.”

I walked over to Corrine’s office and gave her the news.

“He didn’t say who she is,” asked Corrine?

“Morgan’s not the informative type. I imagine it’s the wife or girlfriend of someone who owes Quarles money.”

“I picked up some things at the drug store,” said Corrine. She opened a tackle box for me to look. It was the same type she used to make up the models when we shot a commercial.

Corrine was a very organized person who believed in preparation. There were boxes of different brands of condoms and two plastic squeeze bottles of lubricant. There was also several of what are euphemistically termed marital aids. There was an unopened blister pack containing a dildo vibrator with one of those forked fingers for the clit. The packaging identified it as Doctor Johnson’s Maximum Pleasure Dildo. There was also an anal probe named the Butt Master. It was two feet of flexible latex with a handle on one end and a round ball on the other. I mentally calculated the ball would reach well into my large intestine if someone stuck it up my ass. At the bottom of the drawer there were packages of different size batteries.

I didn’t think drugstores sold dildos but I didn’t want to make an issue of where she got them. There was an adult store at the next exit off the interstate. It was difficult for me to imagine Corrine shopping there but I let it pass. After all, whatever she felt compelled to do was to save my sorry gambling butt.

“You think you’ll need all that,” I asked facing the import of what was in the tackle box? I was on the verge of turning my beautiful wife who I loved dearly into a whore, a slut, and a participant in the production of pornographic films.

“Who knows? I have no idea what a fluffer’s tool kit contains.”

“God help us,” I said falling heavily into the chair and placing my head in my hands. “What have I done?”

“Don’t be like that,” said Corrine looking slightly miffed.

“Like what,” I asked?

“Like you’re about to go take a handful of pills or drive off a bridge. If I can manage to get through this so can you,” said Corrine putting her hand on mine. “We’ll be okay.”

I stiffened my shoulders. Having your wife proved more resilient than you can cause a husband to get his act together. “I’ll pull myself together,” I said. And Corrine was right as usual. I needed to buck up and be a man while I watched my wife suck black dick.





Chapter 5 Morgan and Corrine





Morgan showed up a little after 9:00. I introduced him to Corrine and things got weird immediately.

“Take your clothes off,” said Morgan while he was shaking her hand.

“Why,” I demanded angrily. Somehow the idea my wife would be getting naked had never come up. Things were happening too fast for me.

“Because I say so and I’m the one with a gun,” said Morgan pulling his jacket aside to reveal the large nickel-plated semi-automatic.

Corrine pulled her blouse out of the top of her slacks and started unbuttoning. “It’s okay, Tom. Just give me a minute, Morgan.”

My manly pride evaporated as I stood there and watched my wife strip down to her bra and panties. I felt so miserable I considered rushing him so he would blow my brains out. But what would that have gotten Corrine or me?

“All wrong,” said Morgan walking a circle around Corrine letting his hand trail around her waist. She was down to a basic white bra, full cotton panty, and trousers’ socks. At work, Corrine dressed for comfort.

“This is what I normally wear,” said Corrine.

“Got anything sexier,” asked Morgan?

“Such as,” asked Corrine?

“Heels, hose, but not pantyhose, and one of those things that hold up hose,” said Morgan.

“A garter belt,” said Corrine.

“Yeah, a garter belt,” said Morgan.

“We’re an imaging studio not Victoria Secrets,” I said in a tone of exasperation.

“There’s some lingerie in the prop room left from a shoot we did last month. Let me go check,” said Corrine before hurrying off. She gave me a look ordering me to behave.

She was referring to a small job we did for a Web site that sold risqué lingerie. You could buy the same things at the mall but some people prefer online shopping. Morgan and I stood there watching Corrine’s butt as she walked away.

“Didn’t know your wife was that hot. You get off watching her with other men?” said Morgan rubbing his crotch as he looked at me.

“No, I do not get off watching her with other men,” I said defiantly.

“Better if you did cause it’s going to happen whether you like it or not. She’s a prime piece of tail.”

I decided to change the subject. “Who are they bringing?”

“You in the military,” asked Morgan?

“Army.”

“Air Force, ever hear the phrase, on a need to know basis,” asked Morgan?

“Yes, of course.” You heard that stupid phrase all the time in Uncle Sam’s army.

“Well, I will tell you what you need to know so you don’t need to ask questions,” said Morgan.

“I do need to know what you plan to do to her.”

“You’re the director,” said Morgan. “You tell Jerome and his crew what to do.”

“Like in a porn flick,” I said.

“Yeah, stupid, all her holes, different positions, two cocks, three cocks, as many as they can get in her. Mr. Quarles is counting on you to produce a quality product, something he can be proud of when he shows the welching bastard how much his wife loves black men.”

My directing experience was limited to several fifteen minute infomercials I done over the last year. Other than those, it was thirty second and one-minute commercials. The infomercials had turned out all right. You can watch one of them seven nights a week at 2:30 in the morning if you got cable.

My recollection was interrupted by the sound of high heels tapping on the concrete floor.

“Much better,” said Morgan as Corrine approached from the direction of the stockroom.

Corrine was wearing white everything: high heels, hose, garter belt, thong panty and bra. White looked good on her with her blonde hair and dark copper tan. She thrown on a short silk gown but left it open. She’d done some modeling when she was in college. When she reached Morgan she turned gracefully around allowing the robe to slip off in her hand just like a runway model.

“Come here, beautiful,” said Morgan taking Corrine in her arms. She stiffened for a moment then relaxed.

“We may just give up on the girl Jerome is bringing and gangbang you,” said Morgan allowing one hand to drop to Corrine’s almost bare bottom.

“Mr. Quarles wouldn’t like that,” said Corrine pressing against him.

I was having difficulty processing what was happening. On one hand, Corrine was saving me from emasculation and I should be eternally grateful. She was doing exactly what I had begged her to do.

On the other hand, the way she was pushing her sex against his crotch made me want to jerk her away and slap her silly. I also wanted to kill Morgan but the odds of him killing me first were much better.

“Ever been with a black man,” asked Morgan reaching inside the too small bra to free Corrine’s breast? The model who did the Web shoot was a Size Four with model’s A cup breasts. Corrine was a C cup and the bra barely covered her nipples.

“No, I never dated one and I only slept with men I was in a relationship with.”

Morgan kept talking as he moved the other bra cup aside exposing Corrine’s erect nipple. His black hand covered her pale breast making a strong contrast in skin tone. We have an in ground pool and her bikini had left tan lines. “So, a black man never asked you out?”

“No, never,” said Corrine after thinking a moment. She was a relentlessly honest person.

“You worried about something, Tom,” asked Morgan turning toward me? Driving me insane was part of his fun.

I answered quietly like the whipped dog I was, “No, nothing.”

Morgan kissed Corrine. I never wanted to murder anyone so badly in my life. The fact she kissed him back made it worse. I just stood there fuming while they swapped spit. I’d expected Corrine to go along reluctantly. On the other hand, I knew she was the kind of person who once she agreed to something gave it her all. Looking back, she had a much better grasp of our situation than I did. She was insuring our survival while I was choking on my male ego.

Morgan broke the deep kissing and turned in my direction. “Let’s see if Tom gets a hard on while I check you out as a fluffer. While you were changing, Tom told me he was looking forward to watching you suck off other men, especially black men.”

“He did, did he,” said Corrine giving me a look communicating I was to calm down.

“No, I’m not,” I said but without any real conviction.

“Look. Tom’s got a come stain on his trousers, poor bastard,” said Morgan before taking Corrine by the hand and leading her toward the bed.

When I looked down I saw he was right. I was wearing summer weight gabardine slacks. They were light tan and a highly visible wet spot was dead center in the flap covering my zipper. It was the kind of thing that happens in high school when you’d been staring at a cheerleader’s crotch too long.

When I looked up, Morgan had taken a seat on the edge of the bed. He was leaning back, supporting himself with his arms. I watched as Corrine unbuckled and unzipped his pants them slid them along with his briefs to his knees. Without any hesitation whatsoever, my wife knelt down and took his cock in her mouth.

“Make yourself useful, Tom. Check the equipment or something,” said Morgan as he relaxed back on the bed.

You have no one to blame but yourself, asshole, was what I told myself as I walked to the Control Room. You’re the idiot who lost quarter million dollars. I took a seat in the director’s chair and powered on the robotic cameras surrounding the bed. The screens flickered to life and I had a five-sided high definition view of my wife sucking another man’s cock.

Corrine was kneeling between Morgan’s legs. Both her boobs were now out of the bra. At the moment, she was stroking the shaft while licking his balls.

I should mention Corrine is fabulous in bed. She’s energetic, aggressive, and uninhibited. Plus she’s creative, always finding new ways to keep our sex life interesting. Since we became a couple, those were qualities enjoyed only by yours truly until tonight. However, at the moment, a black thug who I knew only by one name was also getting the best blowjob I’d ever experienced.

I watched as she worked on Morgan. His black cock was glistening. I refrained from getting into comparing sizes; however I’d guess we were equivalent. Morgan’s seemed a little longer but mine was thicker. I made some adjustments to the cameras to true up the color. Then without thinking I flipped on the microphones.

“Suck that black dick, bitch,” blared through the speaker startling me. I grabbed the dial to turn the volume down.

That was accompanied by the grunting noise Corrine makes when she sucks my dick only this time it wasn’t my dick. Corrine was one of those lucky women who get turned on when they perform orally. I had marveled the first time she blew me when she managed to bring herself to a simultaneous orgasm by the judicious application of her fingers to her clit.

I watched and listened for a while then I took my already erect manhood out and began to masturbate.

All right I am a prick, a creep who got his wife in this situation then couldn’t resist jerking off to it. Stroking my cock with one hand, I took the overhead camera’s controls in the other. I pressed the button on the side of the joystick changing the focus. Slowly, the camera zoomed in. I didn’t stop until the screen was filled with my wife’s face and Morgan’s dick.

She was giving him her best. One minute hollowed cheeks sucking hard. Next she had her lips pressed against his pubic hair as she forced the cockhead into her throat. Then she backed off working the underside of the shaft with her tongue. I was stroking my rock hard prick while her tongue was swirling around his tip. The high def camera captured the spider webs of drool between his penis and her chin. Thick ropes of saliva were dripping off her chin down to her boobs.

“Going to blow, bitch, take it, take it all and keep it,” said Morgan as he began to climax.

Corrine’s hollowed out cheeks indicated compliance. My wife can suck you dry.

“Show me,” said Morgan sitting up when he finished.

Corrine opened her mouth. Her tongue was covered in semen.

“Look up at the camera and swallow it,” said Morgan somehow sensing I was watching.

The camera captured the movement of Corrine’s throat as she swallowed. I blew my load so hard it arched into the air and landed on the keyboard.

I spent the next few minutes cleaning come out of the keys with a Q-tip.

“Everything’s ready,” I said as I approached the bed where the two of them were seated engaged in post oral sex chitchat. At that moment, Morgan’s cell phone sounded. The odd sounding ring tone, Corrine later informed me, was music from some dead black rapper.

“Open the door, Jerome’s here,” said Morgan.

I walked over and pushed the button. The truck door slowly opened and a black van drove into the building.

Chapter 6 Marilyn Is With Child





Corrine whispered, “She’s pregnant,” as soon as Kelso dumped the woman on the bed then pulled the cloth sack off her head. Corrine rushed to the side of the bed shouting, “Be careful, assholes.”

I don’t know what I expected but a pregnant woman wasn’t it. Her name was Marilyn Tate, wife of Charles Tate, junior partner in the law firm of Tate, Tate, Wiggins and McKnight. During the course of the evening, she told Corrine she had about eight weeks before delivery. She was thirty-eight and had two miscarriages. Her husband was a corporate lawyer. She knew he gambled a little but nothing serious.

Jerome and his crew did not look terribly enthusiastic about gang banging a female with a belly the size of a beach ball. Her milk swollen boobs rested on her stomach. Marilyn wasn’t what you’d considered a turn on. The shorts she was wearing contained an elastic front panel that was expanded to the max. Maternity clothes don’t make for a cock hardening sight.

“Please don’t let them hurt my baby,” said Marilyn as Corrine cut the tape off her feet and hands.

“I’ll do everything I can to help you but you’ll have to help me by doing what they say,” said Corrine. “Don’t give them a reason to knock you about.”

Looking back, I realized Marilyn being pregnant brought out Corrine’s maternal instincts. Corrine’s reservoir of empathy was immediately taped by the life inside Marilyn’s belly. Women are like that, nurturing, and protective.

“What are they going to do,” asked Marilyn looking fearfully around at Jerome and his crew, a nightmare scenario for the average white suburban housewife.

“Have sex with you,” said Corrine. “Your husband has lost money gambling and this is a warning for him to pay.”

“You mean they are going to rape me,” said Marilyn starting to cry.

“Yeah, we’re going to put a train on your fat white ass and rape the shit out of you,” said Kelso causing Marilyn to burst into tears.

“What’s your name,” asked Corrine staring directly as Kelso.

“Kelso, bitch, what’s it to you,” said Kelso.

“If you upset her, we won’t be able to make the kind of adult film, Mr. Quarles wants and I’ll make sure he knows who to blame,” said Corrine.

I should have been proud of my wife standing up to them but I was too busy worrying about making a porn film starring a very pregnant woman.

“You don’t dis me, white cunt,” said Kelso advancing menacingly toward Corrine. His arm was raised to strike her.

“Cool it, Kelso. She’s right. Mr. Quarles wants it to look like the cunt’s having a good time, loves getting her twat stuffed with nigger dick,” said Morgan stepping between Corrine and Kelso. Thank God, Kelso immediately backed off.

“Give me a minute to calm her down,” said Corrine to Morgan. “Tom, get the bottle of vodka from your office.”

I started to deny I had a vodka bottle in my office. No one was supposed to know it was there. But the time for my stupid games and evasions was past. I ran to the office, grabbed the bottle and some paper cups then returned as quickly. Corrine was having a whispered conversation with Marilyn

“Everybody take a drink and chill,” said Corrine taking the cup I gave her and offering it to Marilyn.

“I can’t drink with the baby,” said Marilyn refusing the vodka.

“One swallow won’t cause fetal alcohol syndrome. You need to relax. It will help you do what’s needed. That will keep your baby safe. Is it a boy or a girl?” said Corrine seeking to distract and calm the woman.

“Carl and I want it to be a surprise. We asked the ultrasound technician not to tell us,” said Marilyn before taking a swallow of vodka.

I walked around filling paper cups with premium vodka for the crew. Morgan refused, mentioning something about being a member of the Nation of Islam. The idea of that wife fucking bastard as religious struck me as ridiculous. I wondered if it was okay in his religion to blow your load down another man’s woman.

“Next time, make it Crystál and get some decent glasses,” said Jerome taking the cup from me. I later discovered Crystál was two hundred dollars a bottle champagne. I stuck with vodka.

I hurriedly finished installing the wireless microphones as I explained the first scene that was going to feature Marilyn masturbating with a vibrator while Jerome’s crew stood around the bed jerking their cocks. It became my signature Tom Meade porn opening.

I went back in the Control Room. Corrine had propped Marilyn up with pillows so she would be more comfortable. She could barely reach over her stomach to place the dildo on her clit.

I told Marilyn to open her legs wider so the camera could zoom in on the small bullet shaped vibrator she was pressing against her button.

Miniature wireless microphones were concealed in the ears of Corrine, the six black men, and Marilyn. Morgan was seated in the back of the Control Room watching me work.

Marilyn was nude except for a pair of black stay up hose that had a wide band of lace at the top. It was the only thing Corrine could find that fit her. Morgan had rapped me on the back of the head to communicate his displeasure we didn’t have a full wardrobe of slut attire. I made a mental note to have Corrine remedy that for next time.

I grabbed the joystick and commanded the overhead camera to take a slow traverse that began at Marilyn’s feet and ended at her head before returning to her glistening sex. The sheen was courtesy of Corrine. The safety of the unborn child had been her stated rationale for squirting Wet over Marilyn’s vulva then working it deep into her opening with her fingers. Corrine’s willingness to penetrate Marilyn’s vagina was one more thing my overworked brain decided to process at a future date and time. Corrine had been adamant in the past about her dislike of lesbian sex.

I zoomed out to get a shot of the five naked men standing around Marilyn’s bed jerking their hard cocks. The sixth man was named Levar and at the moment he was seated in a nearby winged back Queen Anne chair with his legs thrown over the arms. Corrine was kneeling between his legs and for the first time performing her official fluffer duties. Moments before, Levar’s failure to get good wood had gotten us off to a nerve-racking start.

Levar had foolishly spent the afternoon humping a woman named Shelia who according to Levar had drained him of his essence repeatedly. Shelia, a woman apparently of no small appetite had so exhausted Levar’s sexual capacity; he could not achieve an erection thereby angering Morgan who reacted in characteristic fashion.

“Suck on this, you dumb nigger,” said Morgan forcing the hapless naked Levar to his knees as he placed the barrel of the nickel platted semi-automatic between his lips.

“It’s Shelia’s fault, Morgan. I didn’t want to fuck her. She made me,” said Levar. At least I think that was what he said. Speaking with the barrel of a gun in your mouth hinders articulation although he continued to stroke his limp dick at warp speed.

“What did I tell you, nigger,” demanded Morgan pulling back the slide to chamber a round.

I was ready to piss my pants. Corrine and I are not gun people. We don’t own one. Just being in the same room with a gun scares me.

“Keep it in my pants. You said for me to keep it in my pants,” said Levar starting to sob a little as he worked the shaft with the reverse hand stroke favored by black men with big cocks. “Please, Morgan, I can get it up. Let me try again.”

“What else did I say, Nigger” asked Morgan who appeared on the verge of pulling the trigger?

Corrine was seated on the bed, her arm around Marilyn whispering what I assumed were encouraging words. She had just finished helping Marilyn undress and put on the hose. Marilyn didn’t seem thrilled to be naked in front of Jerome’s crew.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven and we hadn’t captured a single minute of video.

“Save it for tonight,” said Levar after thinking for a minute. Apparently sex with the libidinous Sheila had killed some memory cells.

“What else did I say,” demanded Morgan taking the gun out of Levar’s mouth to land it smartly on the side of his head sending him to the floor with blood leaking out of his temple?

“You said any nigger can’t get a hard on; you’d blow his pecker clean off,” said Levar covering his privates with both hands, not effective body armor against a nine millimeter round.

Corrine showed her shrewd feminine qualities by intervening to diffuse the situation. “Tom can start with five. I’ll work with Levar. He can join in when he’s ready.”

Morgan took a minute to consider Corrine’s offer then he slowly put his gun back in the holster before speaking. He couldn’t ignore the obvious. If he blew Levar’s penis off, Marilyn would totally freak out and we weren’t going to make Mr. Quarles porn flick. “All right, but the next time this happens, somebody is going home without a dick.”

“Mic check, raise your hand if you can hear me,” I said anxious to get going before Morgan killed someone. “Testing,” I repeated as I flipped through the roll of microphones. It felt odd when I opened Corrine’s microphone, said “Testing,” and watched as she raised one arm while stroking Levar’s soft penis all the while keeping the head in her mouth.

We all have hidden talents and fluffing turned out to be Corrine’s.

I fed Marilyn her first line while she was lying there in the center of the bed stretching to push the tip of the hard plastic vibrator into the base of her clit. I acknowledge the need to write better dialogue.

“I want all you black boys to fuck my white pussy then you can fuck my white ass I want my husband Charlie to see how much I love black dick,” said Marilyn in the breathless voice I had suggested.

“Good,” I whispered in her ear. Corrine had succeeded in focusing Marilyn on one goal. Do what it takes to protect your unborn child. After this is over, you can go home and cut your husband’s balls off and feed them to him.

I took a minute to get some close-ups of Marilyn’s face and sex as she used the vibrator to get herself ready. She responded when I told her to moan, arch her back, and lick her lips. “This is for you, Charlie,” she cooed to the camera.

“All white women are whores,” commented Morgan quietly from his overseer position. “Godless, filthy whores who in spite of their supposed middle class values will fuck anything with a cock.”

A quick glance showed that my white whore now had a couple of fingers stuck up Levar’s ass. The combination blowjob and prostrate massage appeared to be working since Levar’s manhood was showing signs of life.

Morgan noticed where I was glancing. “Your wife knows how to suck a black man’s cock.”

I assumed he meant it as a complement. “Thanks.”

“You’re up, Jerome,” I spoke into his microphone. “Roll her over into the doggie position.”

Jerome climbed on the bed and helped an awkward Marilyn come to her knees and elbows.

“This is too slow,” complained Morgan.

“Editing will speed it up. Please, I need to concentrate,” I said speaking more harshly than was wise. I worried whether behind me Morgan was debating whether to blow my brains over the control board. But he surprised me.

He muttered, “Sorry,” and was quiet.

“Jerome, spread her cheeks apart and put your thumb on her asshole.” Marilyn had put on weight during her pregnancy and her asshole was hidden inside two globes of loose fat. Like most pregnant women, the baby’s pressure on her organs had produced a monumental case of hemorrhoids. If it bothered Jerome, he didn’t show it. His cock was poised at the entrance of the man’s woman and that in itself was enough to make his dick hard.

Jerome licked the pad of his thumb, did as he was told, and then messed up. “Like this?” he asked looking toward the Control Room.

“Yes, but do not look at the camera or me,” I barked before speaking for Morgan’s benefit. “I’ll edit that out.”

“Jerome, keep your thumb on her butthole as you put your cock in her pussy. Marilyn, can you reach back and guide him into you?” Marilyn’s hand barely reached his penis but it was enough for him to enter her hole, hesitate a moment to savor the experience of fucking a pregnant white woman before continuing forward to where his balls touched home plate.

“Oh yeah, this is good pussy,” said Jerome smiling and throwing his head back to express his pleasure. It was an unscripted line of dialogue that made the Al Quarles cut.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my first penetration scene began. Jerome began slowly then picked up speed as he thrust into her.

Things were going better than I expected. I’m not saying I was thinking about renting a tuxedo for the next academy awards just that it wasn’t a total screw up and I had hopes of being alive and attached to my nuts when dawn broke tomorrow.

Jerome was pumping away so I issued Marilyn a prompt. “Oh baby that feels so big. Your cock is so much bigger than my husband’s Charlie’s needle dick.” The way Marilyn said it I believed her. I issued my final instruction for Scene One Take One, “Jerome, put your thumb in her ass and fuck her harder for fifteen seconds then get off her.”

Jerome moved his thumb aside to allow a sizeable gob of spit to fall directly on her sphincter. He smeared it around with this thumb then pushed it deep in her butt. Marilyn responded with a loud moan.

As I moved the robotic cameras around to capture a variety of shots of Jerome and Marilyn, I thought about how her husband would react to the disc. Would he fall into a jealous rage and kill her? That didn’t seem likely since he was the one at fault. Or would he take the blame himself as I did when I considered what was happening to Corrine?

Of course, I was trying to make it look like Marilyn’s gang bang was the thrill of her life and she was certainly cooperating. On screen she was pushing back, meeting Jerome’s thrusts with a loud grunt. She kept repeating, “Fuck me, baby, fuck me,” over and over. Maybe Moran was right. All white wives had an inner slut that only the presence of black cock can unleash.

I gave her another line she repeated with a certain relish. “I want another black baby in my belly just like the one you gave me eight months ago.” Corrine later told me she suggested Marilyn focus her anger on her husband.

Was her motivation, survival of her and the baby, desire to humiliate her bastard husband (an argument strongly advanced by Corrine who seemed to have her own game of humiliate the husband underway), pleasure of having a young lean handsome well-endowed black man pounding his cock in her pussy, or a combination of all of the above? I went for the all. Life is complicated.

It was something of a mystery what Mr. Al Quarles was up to. As far as I was concerned, threatening to cut off my balls got my attention and quick compliance. Maybe it was a peculiarly black man’s revenge for a lifetime of slights, real and perceived. Humiliate and degrade the proud white man by forcing him to acknowledge the sexual superiority of the black man using his own woman as a guinea pig. Somehow that sounded too much like a white man’s version of how the black man thought. Perhaps, Al Quarles was bored with castration and needed a break. He had an offbeat sense of humor and thought making a gangbang video of the debtor’s woman was a hoot.

“You’re up, Jamal,” I said noting that Jerome had been pounding Marilyn’s hole for the desired three minutes and it was time to switch.

Unexpectedly, Morgan reached over me to grab a spare set of headphones. “Is this Levar,” he asked holding the jack over the input for Levar’s microphone?

That caused me to look toward where I last saw Corrine. Levar was still seated in the high backed Queen Anne chair but Corrine was no longer kneeling between his legs. She had climbed up on the chair facing him. Her feet were precariously balanced on the chair arms allowing her to raise and lower herself. Levar was fucking my wife; actually it was more accurate to say my wife was fucking Levar.

His large pink tongue was licking her boobs as they passed by. His hands gripped her buttocks. From the look on Corrine’s face, it was obvious Marilyn was not the only woman present enjoying penetration.

Levar’s manhood had definitely revived. Its size made me understand why Shelia had taken advantage of him that afternoon. I visually estimated how far inside Corrine it reached when her bottom slapped down on his thighs. Navel level was my answer but that seemed impossible.

“Yes, that’s it,” I answered indicating the proper input jack.

Morgan jacked in and spoke, “Levar, if you come, you die.”

Levar looked quickly in our direction. He stood up, lifting Corrine with him, holding her butt for support. Corrine arms were around his neck. They continued to fuck as he slowly turned around and put her down in the chair. Once she was free of his embrace, Corrine threw her legs over the arms and masturbated. That was a surprise. Somehow it struck me as uncharacteristic of my wife.

“Dumbest fucking nigger on the planet,” said Morgan who surprised my by chuckling.

I suppose it was funny even though my wife was proving to be a whore of the first order. I reminded myself I had agreed upon pain of her cutting my manhood off with a dull kitchen knife not to reproach her. My fuck up had issued her a free pass to enjoy fucking other men. No one to blame but myself.

“Kelso, you’re up next,” I queued Kelso his three minutes of pregnant pussy were about to begin. When he mounted her rear, Marilyn proved she could handle the largest cock of Jerome’s bunch. I got some great video of his log sliding in her hole. I pictured the baby reaching out to play with it as it entered her womb.

Jerome was now standing in front of Mrs. Thomas Mead getting his slimy cock sucked. Jamal joined his brother creating opportunity for Corrine to give head to two men at once. It was a night of firsts.

I gave each of the remaining three studs, their three minutes of pussy heaven. Maurice had long arms and did an excellent job of working Marilyn’s enormous breasts as he pummeled her snatch.

We took a short break after the six had enjoyed Marilyn’s hole for the requisite three minutes. I opened a cooler and handed water bottles to everyone.

“You all right,” I asked Corrine who moments before had been down on her knees attending orally to three cocks?

“Fine,” said Corrine wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “My jaw is going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I wonder if OSHA has a listing for fluffer’s jaw,” I said.

Corrine gave me a dirty look then laughed. “Tom, maybe you should write up an accident report and send it to Washington.”

“I mean are you really all right,” I asked again?

“What do you think? Let’s just get through this. We can talk about it later,” said Corrine.

“Okay, I better get double penetration started or we’re going to be here all night,” I said.

“I hope Marilyn is okay. She claims that outside of her husband, she has only been with two other men. She’s never done DP.”

Jerome and Jamal was the first pair to mount Marilyn. Jamal lay on his back as pregnant Marilyn cautiously climbed on top. He had to help support her as she eased his cock in her pussy. After a few practice strokes, a standing Jamal presented his dick to her mouth. Marilyn didn’t hesitate to form her lips around the head.

It made me wonder if she had been truthful with Corrine about her lack of experience. Regardless, she could now stand on stage at the Indianapolis’ Clowes Memorial Hall and tell the world that hell yes; she had been double penetrated and loved every fucking minute of it.

I fed her several lines to the effect she adored sucking the black man’s dick while another black man was fucking her. She delivered them in a convincing fashion. You could tell from the way she spoke Charlie’s name, she wanted to add to his humiliation. How would you feel watching your on screen wife take a cock larger than yours out of her mouth and announce to the world how much she loved sucking it? And if it was black, that would make it worse.

Off screen, my fluffer’s face was buried between the butt cheeks of Kelso who was leaning forward, his arms resting on the Queen Anne. Her hands separated his buttocks so she could apply her tongue to the dark brown asshole playing his Rusty Trombone. Even from the distance, I could see her saliva glistening in the polarized light. It was Corrine’s first experience of playing the Rusty Trombone but I gather that girls in the black ghetto learn the instrument in middle school.

I watched fascinated as Maurice came up behind her with a hard cock and placed it between her butt cheeks and pushed. That prompted Corrine to turn around smiling and say something as she handed him the Wet. Maurice fondled her tits as she squeezed some in her hand then reached back to apply it to her asshole. She returned her face to Kelso’s crack while Maurice after minimal effort sunk his cock in her lubricated ass. My prick was hard as a rock. But I needed to concentrate on my directorial responsibilities so I returned my attention to Marilyn.

“Jamal, can you reach the Wet without taking your cock out of Marilyn’s mouth?”

He responded by stretching his arm out toward the Wet but he was a good six inches short.

“Levar, toss Jamal the Wet,” I directed and a chastened Levar quickly did as he was told.

I had no idea whether Marilyn was into backdoor sex but I decided to give it a try anyway. Editing would cover up any mistakes. I enabled Marilyn’s microphone. “Fuck me in the ass, baby. I want your cock in my shit hole. I’ve never let Charlie stick his tiny little weenie in my poop shute.”

She hesitated a few second then repeated exactly what I said and she did a good job of making me believe she meant it. Who knows? Maybe she did. Guys tend to leave their pregnant wives alone. Marilyn may not have had a good fuck in eight months.

Jamal followed my direction to move to her rear, lubricate her anus, and finger fuck her butt beginning with one finger then moving to two and ultimately three.

Marilyn dutifully repeated my words for the cameras describing in lurid terms how wonderful it felt when Jamal’s prick popped past her sphincter and entered her rectum. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, I love having my shitter fucked,” moaned Marilyn as Jamal reamed her rear. I had to instruct him to turn slightly sideways to get the shots I wanted of his dick sliding in and out of her anus. Marilyn followed my direction to reach back with one hand and separate her butt cheeks. I got great close ups of Jamal’s cock gliding in and out her ass. The way her flesh pedal surrounded sphincter held on to his penis allowed you to think she loved it even if it wasn’t true.

For the next fifteen minutes, Marilyn’s orifices played host to a different pair of cocks. When the third and final twosome was done, we took another break.

“What’s next,” asked Morgan looking at his watch?

“I was thinking for an ending Marilyn would kneel down in the middle of the guys and they jerk off in her mouth,” I said imitating the finale of every other gangbang movie made since porn began.

“How about first we let the girls have some fun before we blow our load,” asked Jamal?

“What have you got in mind,” I asked but I knew the answer?

“Girl on girl,” said Jamal. “I want to see Corrine eat her pussy.”

“Sure, why not,” said Morgan cutting short any objection I might have. “You guys deserve a reward.”

“It can’t be part of the final disc,” I said defiantly. I wasn’t going to allow a video of Corrine out of the building if I could help it. I was expecting Corrine to object but she didn’t make a sound.

“It doesn’t have to be in the final,” said Morgan. “Just something to get Jerome’s crew ready for the finale.”

I knew what he was upping the ante in the humiliate Tom game.

“You okay with this,” I asked Corrine? She had always been adamant that while she had nothing against lesbians, sex with another woman wasn’t for her.

“At this point nothing matters,” said Corrine. “All right with you, Marilyn?”

Marilyn finished her water and tossed the empty in the trash before speaking. “If I said No, would it change things?”

“Not in the least,” said Morgan. “Let’s get to it.”

Marilyn had held up surprisingly well for all she’d been through. She had been screwed several times by six different men in all three orifices, enough to exhaust a woman, especially a pregnant one. However, she looked eager enough after Corrine ran a brush through her hair and touched up her make-up.

“Let’s sixty nine. I’ll get on top,” said Corrine getting on the bed.

Two minutes later I was back in the Control Room. Marilyn took a supine position in the center of the bed. Corrine carefully climbed on board. Fortunately, Corrine is tall and Marilyn short or it wouldn’t have worked. Jerome’s crew crowded close. A quick scan showed everyone had good wood. I cued the action.

I watched the monitor as Corrine began to kiss Marilyn’s pussy. Assuming Corrine had been honest with me about never having engaged in oral sex with a female, I found it surprising she didn’t hesitate to lick up and down Marilyn’s ravaged slit. Her mouth attacked that cum soaked twat with the gusto of a bull dyke. A quick glance at another monitor showed Marilyn applying her mouth to Corrine’s sex with equal vigor.

“White girls love to eat pussy,” was Morgan’s comment on the matter.

Jerome was right about girl on girl sex being a turn on. His guys were stroking and laughing as they shouted at Corrine and Marilyn, urging them on. Watching those two gang fucked women eat each other’s cunt was a definite turn on. Perhaps it was the idea of watching white women eating pussy your dick had recently vacated. I felt my own cock responding to the sights and sounds of lesbian sex.

For Jerome and his crew, maybe the fact they were white women added to how they felt. I’ve since decided racism plays a surprisingly large part in our attitudes toward sex. After several minutes of watching the rug munch, the men began reaching in to touch the women. That seemed to ratchet up the intensity of their oral sex.

A few moments more and Jerome and Jamal climbed up on the bed and pulled the pair apart. What ensued was spontaneous. I gave up on directing. I lay back in my chair, stroking my cock as I watched my wife get screwed in every orifice. Kelso pulled her to where her head hung off the bed and faced fucked her while he worked her nipples hard. Levar was double stroking deep into her pussy. I suppose it’s the kind of sex, women fantasize but seldom if ever get.

I did manage to pull it together enough at the end to capture required footage of a kneeling Marilyn getting her face covered in semen. Anything who has watched porn knows facials are the pro forma ending. In spite of their earlier ejaculations, they managed to coat Marilyn’s face with jism.

Marilyn followed my instructions to use her finger to slide most of it onto her tongue. The final shot was of a smiling Marilyn, her face, hair, and milk filled boobs glistening with spunk waving at the camera blowing a come bubble. Acting wise I considered Marilyn something of a thespian.

“That’s a wrap,” I announced.

Corrine showed up with a wet rag to wipe Marilyn off. She helped her dress. They gave each other a little hug when it was time for her to leave. As Jerome’s crew prepared to take her back to her car, Morgan drew her aside to deliver serious threats to her and the life within her. From the look of her face, I believed she would keep her mouth shut. If she didn’t, I would be going to jail for a long time.

Minutes later, Corrine and I were left alone to clean and straighten the set. I downloaded all the captured video to a clean set of DVDs then erased it off the computer’s hard drive.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” I said as we drove home.

“Stop apologizing,” was all she said as she placed her weary head on my shoulder and dozed off. “What’s done is done.”



Chapter 7 The Abyss





“When you stare into the abyss, it stares into you,” said Corrine breaking the silence. We were home in bed, both staring at the ceiling fan.

It was four thirty in the morning but we were still awake. Thank God it was Saturday and we had the day off. We hadn’t gotten home until three. And in spite of the fact we were both physically and emotionally exhausted we couldn’t sleep. Too much heavy shit had gone down and my mind wouldn’t let go. Corrine must have felt the same because she was the first to break the silence.

I should add I had a grip on my hard cock. I was slowly stroking my raging erection trying to keep myself under control. I was afraid to tell Corrine the reasons I was tumescent. As soon as she spoke I felt a certain familiar movement from her side of the bed. Surprise, Corrine was working her clit.

I felt the need to talk also so I answered immediately, “What movie is that from?”

“Not sure it’s ever been in a movie. It’s a famous quote from Nietzsche,” said Corrine.

I should mention that Corrine is both smart as a whip and well read. She was a National Merit Scholar and went to college on a scholastic scholarship. My wife is what you call a deep thinker.

“So name some of his movies,” I said.

“Whose movies,” asked Corrine?

“The guy you just mentioned, Nietzsche,” I said.

“He was a German philosopher, not a movie director. He wrote several famous works of philosophy. He was also I love with his sister and they lived together as man and wife. But that’s not my point,” said Corrine.

At times I tried to be competitive but the reality is Corrine’s smarter than me. But it didn’t keep me from trying. “Wasn’t there a movie about being underneath the ocean? It was called The Abyss?”

“Yes, there was; but that’s also irrelevant. It had nothing to do with Nietzsche,” said Corrine laughing.

“So what did you say a minute ago,” I asked? We were both openly masturbating. We often jerked off together while watching porn. I felt it was a poor substitute for a fuck but after a long day at the office, we didn’t have the energy for coitus.

“I repeated Frederick Nietzsche’s famous quote that when you stare into the abyss, it stares into you.”

“And that means what?” I’d decided it was time to give up on being cute.

“When you get involved with evil, it changes you. No what how noble your reasons or just your cause, confronting evil has a price.”

“So why didn’t Nietzsche just call it evil not the abyss,” I asked working my balls with one hand while the other stroked my shaft.

“He wrote in German. But that was what he meant,” said Corrine who had pushed the covers off. One hand was rubbing her vulva and the other twisting a nipple. It wasn’t our usual easy does it jerking off, we were punishing our body.

“I assume we are talking about what happened with Marilyn and even before she arrived. I agree it changed me and I wouldn’t say necessarily for the better.” I was approaching matters slowly. I didn’t want to blurt out watching her fuck other men, especially black men, turned me on to the max and I felt guilty as hell about it. No, that’s not right. What bothered me was that I didn’t feel guilty about it.

“At least her baby will be okay,” said Corrine.

“It should be. You kept them from knocking her about. That was wonderful of you, by the way,” I said as I gave her a kiss. “Now she has to go home and confront her husband about the money he owes Quarles. That could be traumatic.”

“And they both have to live with the DVD of her being fucked by six black men. You’ll edit out the part where Marilyn and went down on each other.”

“Of course, you won’t be in the final product,” I said. “I’ll start editing as soon as I get some rest.” Morgan said Mr. Quarles wanted it ASAP and I didn’t want to make him wait, prompting a return visit.

“That was a first for me, you know. Other than making out once in high school, I’d never done anything with another woman. I think Marilyn has done it before,” said Corrine.

Thinking back, I agreed Corrine’s was not the first pussy Marilyn ever put her tongue in. She had burrowed her face into my wife’s dripping cunt with real enthusiasm, making little cooing sounds as she licked Corrine to a first class orgasm. Marilyn may have been terrified of the situation and the chance of losing the baby but once Corrine and she went French, she exhibited genuine lesbian lust.

“So how was it,” I asked? I knew she needed to tell me some things. I just had to be patient and let her take her own good time.

“Truthfully, you want to know?”

I meant what I said next. “We’ve both been through quite an ordeal. It was very different from what we’re used to. I think honesty is called for.”

“I should have been disgusted. Her vagina was full of come. But since we’re being honest, eating her turned me on. The presence of multiple loads of semen made the sex hotter,” said Corrine.

“How about what she did to you?”

“That turned me on too” said Corrine. “I climaxed when she did.”

“Including the anal part followed by the kissing,” I asked referring to the hardcore act Jerome had ordered the two women to perform. I wasn’t certain Corrine knew I’d watched when Jerome made the women suck semen out of each other’s butthole then engage in some serious tongue kissing.

“Anilingus, you and I have done that a few times. However you’re a-hole wasn’t oozing sperm. It was hot in a kinky sort of way,” said Corrine thoughtfully.

“Eating butt is a big part of Jerome and company’s sexual repertoire. The only time Marilyn showed any reluctance was when Kelso presented his back door to her and demanded a rim job.”

“He went about it wrong. Anyway, Marilyn was reluctant at first but the fear of losing the baby got her through it,” said Corrine. “I thought she handled it very well under the circumstances. After she did Kelso’s ass, she didn’t hesitate to rim the others.”

“So did you. You were my rock. I couldn’t have got through last night without you.”

“It’s not so bad once you get past the idea of placing your mouth on a stranger’s butt hole. Some of them weren’t that clean. However, and I want you to know I find this hard to admit, that excited me more. If you asked me yesterday morning if licking a shit stained asshole was a turn on, I’d said you were out of your mind.”

“Degradation and humiliation can be sexually stimulating. Morgan took you in front of me and I felt humiliated but my cock was hard as a rock. I wonder if Marilyn had a change of attitude about anilingus. Maybe the next time she has sex with her husband, she’ll order him on all fours and spread his cheeks for an ass munching,” I said.

“After what she went through tonight because of him, I’m not sure there will be next time.”

I continued to stroke my cock. I hadn’t been so ready to fuck Corrine since before we go married. However I didn’t want to just climb on her so I kept the conversation rolling. “So outside of finding it erotic to perform orally on a well fucked female pussy and ass, what else did the abyss offer you,” I asked.

“In spite of or maybe because of the fact I was scared, I found the entire experience erotic. And that bothers me. I went into last night determined to do what it took to keep us alive. I steeled myself for the ordeal thinking it would be unpleasant and degrading but I would get through it.”

“But things did not turn out as your anticipated,” I said.

“I got turned on at the beginning when Morgan made me undress. My vagina was positively dripping by the time I reached the prop room looking for something to please him. What kind of person does that make me?”

Don’t be judgmental I told myself. The thought she was a cock sucking, ass eating, white whore who loved being gangbanged by black gangsters with big dicks crossed my mind but I stayed cool.

“You seemed to get into sucking him off. I’m not reproaching you just making an observation.” I was surprised at the turn of the conversation. Any casual observer who watched Corrine perform that evening would have concluded the woman was into what was happening but I hadn’t expected her to admit it this soon. Self is the most powerful form of deception.

“I had one orgasm after another,” said Corrine. “It seems wrong and against everything I believed in.”

“I’m sure any normal female would have acted as you did. Excitement, danger, and the presence of a half dozen young well-endowed handsome black men add up to a potent combination. Plus there was an aura of inevitability about the night.”

“By inevitability, you meant the fact we didn’t have a choice made it easier to acknowledge the eroticism of the situation.”

“Precisely, there is an old Chinese proverb. If rape is inevitable, you might as well lie back and enjoy it. I’d say that worked for Marilyn too. Between inevitability and protecting her unborn the woman fucked with everything she had. I detected the occasional orgasm on her part. She had one when you went down on her.”

My quote about accepting the inevitable rape wasn’t as brainy as Corrine’s abyss comment and I had no idea who said it first but I felt it applied just as well.

“You’re right, of course. Think we should go into therapy,” asked Corrine?

“No, they’re legally required to report certain crimes.”

“I didn’t think of that. You said the abyss looked in you, too.”

Since Corrine had dumped her bucket, I felt both obligated and enabled to dump mine. Actually it was what I had been hoping for since our conversation started.

“I was turned on watching you have sex with other men. There, I’ve admitted it. You have no idea how guilty it makes me feel.” I chose to emphasize my point by kicking my covers off then taking her hand and putting it on my hard cock. I reached over to feel her boob. Her nipples were erect and she moaned when I touched them.

“I could tell. Remember when Morgan pointed out the spot on your trousers,” said Corrine.

“I have a confession to make. I jerked off in the Control Room watching you suck his cock. I blew my load so hard the jism landed on the keyboard. I had to clean it out with a Q-tip and a can of air.”

Corrine began stroking my cock as we discussed our evening. “I suppose that’s not unusual either. I’ve read in Cosmopolitan where the most common fantasy of married men is watching their wives have intercourse with other men or even another woman. You saw both tonight. You want me to suck you?”

“No, I want to eat you,” I said rolling over on her and scooting down to where my mouth could reach her unwashed sex. The aroma was overwhelming. I inhaled deeply taking it into my lungs. The smell was so strong you could taste it and the taste was so powerful you could chew it. I was in the most profound sexual ecstasy of my life when my lips touched her cunt and my tongue plunged into her juicy hole.

There were probably six loads of semen in her cunt mixed with her secretions and Marilyn’s saliva, topped off with a good layer of sweat. Her anus had the funky smell of old jism.

“I should shower first,” said Corrine.

We had tumbled into bed too tired to shower.

“No, please, the raunchier the better,” I said parting her labia with my tongue. I was overjoyed she was still gooey. The concoction was thick enough I could scoop it up with my tongue.

“Oh,” was all Corrine said spreading her legs wider to ease my access.

She relaxed as I energetically sucked and licked her clit and vagina. At one point, I switched my mouth to her sphincter and she accommodated me by raising her legs to the ceiling and pulling them back toward her head. The change in position caused a quantity of rectum-marinated cock juice to exit her anus and land on my tongue.

I had joined the select club of perverted husbands who get off eating their wives pussy and ass after other men have fucked them. I recalled from somewhere we were classified as cream pie eaters. The term seemed apt.

After I had consumed her available fluids, I crawled on top, bent her double and fucked her pussy like a madman. My cock, acting as a plunger, forced more of her liquid content to the surface and the feel of it surging along my shaft and onto my balls was heavenly.

Moments later, I orgasmed and so did Corrine. It had been our most satisfying, erotic, and energetic fuck in quite a while.

“I guess the abyss really got hold of me,” I said as soon as I caught my breath.

“That was kinky,” said Corrine putting her head on my chest.

“It was bizarre,” I said, still savoring the flavors remaining on my palette.

“Is it something you would like to do in the future,” asked Corrine?

“Yes, if you’re willing and don’t think it’s disgusting of me.”

“I think we shouldn’t judge each other under the circumstances. Let’s just go with the flow and accept the inevitable nature of what’s happening.”

Wise words from the woman I loved. I decided to follow her suggestions to the letter.



Chapter 8 Just Desserts



Our second production for Mr. Quarles did not, thank God, involve a pregnant woman. Noreen was a middle aged slightly overweight housewife who at the beginning felt she could tell Jerome’s crew to go to hell and get away with it.

It had been roughly six weeks since we’d made Marilyn’s DVD. I spent hours editing in our home office with Corrine looking over my shoulder. The odd thing was that without a word being spoken, we agreed to defy Mr. Quarles and make two versions.

Quarles’ version featured Marilyn and Jerome’s crew sucking her pussy and fucking all three orifices for seventy-five minutes. Her willingness to protect her unborn child combined with my clever edits resulted in a “Marilyn Adores Black Cock” result. I didn’t doubt her husband would conclude that she had a very good time indeed.

Our version included scenes of Corrine sucking cock, eating butt, fucking the crew in different positions, and going down on Marilyn. It ran for another thirty-five minutes.

Editing also triggered some very hot sex between us. Try to picture me bent over my desk with my pants down at me knees and Corrine stroking my cock while she fingered and licked my asshole. My wife used the term, Rusty Trombone, to describe that particular sex act. That on a couple of occasions, my rear wasn’t that clean didn’t slow her down a second. My sphincter sparkled after she gave it a tongue wash.

The sex had a voyeuristic component. A foot in front of my face, the high definition workstation screen showed Corrine doing the same to Kelso. I found it hard to believe that it was my wife whose face was buried in Kelso’s crack working his sphincter with enthusiasm. At times, it looked like she was trying to suck out the contents of his asshole. We had more and hotter sex during the editing than in Aruba on our honeymoon.

It was almost a week after I handed the disc to Morgan before he gave me some feedback and that was only after I dialed his cell. The conversation was brief.

“Morgan, this is Tom Meade,” I said.

“What do you want,” asked an annoyed Morgan?

“I just wanted to know whether Mr. Quarles liked the disc.”

“If he didn’t like it, you would have heard,” said Morgan ending the call, leaving me disappointed.

Like last time, Morgan arrived an hour early to make sure we were ready. Corrine looked more than ready. She came out of her office wearing a short robe covering some very sexy lingerie.

“Come here, baby” said Morgan signaling for my wife to step into his arms. “Let me see you,” said Morgan after they kissed.

“Well, what do you think,” asked Corrine after slipping out of the robe and spinning around?

I took one look and my dick voted for me. My wife definitely had sex appeal. Corrine had been shopping for heels, hose, boy shorts, garter belt, and bra. The lingerie was black lace and it looked damn good on her. She’d casually mentioned buying something that fit for the next Quarles production. I considered it significant I was seeing her purchases for the first time. The fact she had been to her hair stylist and had a facial and her nails done earlier in the afternoon wasn’t lost on me either.

“Looks mighty good for a white bitch,” said Morgan smiling as he pulled her back into his arms for another kiss that involved considerable tongue action.

“Everything ready, Tom,” asked Morgan? He was standing with his arm around Corrine holding her like she was his. Corrine’s arm was around his waist and her sheer bra didn’t hide the fact her nipples were erect.

“Yes,” I said gesturing toward the bedroom set Buncombe’s was featuring in that month’s sale. It was genuine cherry at least there was a thin layer of cherry on the outside of the white pine. The set consisted of a king bed, matching nightstands, ladies dresser and man’s chest on chest for the ridiculously low price of eleven hundred ninety nine dollars.

“Mr. Quarles has a request,” said Morgan reaching into a jacket pocket for a slip of paper.

“Sure, if we can,” I said.

Morgan read me what was on the paper then handed it to me. “Triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position.”

I knew what triple penetration was but reverse cowgirl was new to me. “Reverse cowgirl, I’m not familiar with that one.”

“Bitch on top of the first brother facing his feet with his cock deep in her ass, second brother between her legs fucking her coochie, third brother standing, straddling her face, getting his dick sucked,” said Morgan. “When Jerome’s crew arrives, Corrine will show you how it’s done. Won’t you, baby?”

Corrine smiled but didn’t speak. She looked thoughtful. I could tell her mind was trying to work out how to accomplish Quarles’ request. It turned out to be a no brainer to do but difficult to capture on video.

“That’s not necessary. I get it,” I said.

“She’d love to do it. Every hole filled with a big black cock,” said Morgan. “Wouldn’t you baby?”

Morgan was fucking with me. Corrine had obviously had some sort of epiphany regarding being gangbanged. As for me, I was role-playing with Morgan. As far as he was concerned I was the jealous white husband angrily watching my beautiful and newly sluttish wife engage in group sex with irresistible black men.

In reality, Corrine’s behavior was a spectacular turn on for me. I had concealed my newfound lust with a tight fitting athletic supporter containing a wad of tissues to soak up any semen that might leak out on to my navy blue slacks. Corrine wasn’t the only one dressed for the occasion.

“Whatever,” I said to end the conversation. Filming a triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position was going to involve some difficult camera work. How do you get revealing camera shots when the bodies are packed that close together? I decided I was going to have to use a hand held camera with a built in light source for extreme close-ups.

Morgan returned to making out with Corrine sliding her boob out of the bra so he could suck her nipple. The loud hiss of pleasure she made when his lips captured her bud signaled his efforts were welcome.

“I have some things to check on in the Control Room,” I said as I did an about face and walked away.

Morgan shouted as I left. “What’s the matter, Tom, Don’t want to watch me and Corrine get it on. Stay and have sloppy seconds.”

I kept walking even though I would have loved partaking in sloppy seconds.

I turned on the cameras and microphone as soon as I sat down. I made one change I hadn’t done last time. I tasked the application to write the incoming video and the audio to the hard drive.

This is different I told myself watching Corrine undress Morgan. She was easing the black turtleneck over his head. I had to hand one thing to the bastard. He was built lean showing well-defined muscle.

Corrine was sucking his nipples as she unbuckled his belt. The way she quickly dropped to her knees as she pushed his trousers down signaled how urgently she wanted his dick in her mouth. She even managed to keep it there as she took off his loafers and socks. He steadied himself with one hand on her shoulder as he stepped out of his pants.

A completely nude Morgan put his hands on both sides of Corrine’s head and engaged in a little skull fucking. At one point, he looked up at the ceiling camera and smiled. The bastard knew I was watching on camera.

I wasn’t just watching. I was stroking it.

Morgan lay back across the bed. Corrine got busy with his cock. I got some extreme close-ups studying her expressions as she went through the ritual we call a blowjob. She kept looking up at him with an expression on her face that communicated having his pecker in her mouth was the hottest experience of her life. Romance writers would call it a look of raw passion.

I always heard women don’t really like oral sex. They just do it to keep their man happy. I didn’t think that applied to Corrine. She looked Morgan in the eye and took his peter right down to her throat opening. Her nostrils flared indicating one final deep breath then she forced him deeper. Her neck swelled as the narrow passageway opened. Her carefully French manicured fingers were massaging with his balls and one finger had found its way to his anus.

Morgan must have been impressed because he said, “Damn, Corrine, you suck dick like a nigger whore.”

Morgan let her work for a few more minutes then announced, “Time to ride my pony.”

Corrine straddled him then took his cock and guided into her hole. He grabbed her nipples and pulled her down for a round of face sucking. She came back up ready to ride.

I had a close up of her face as she worked his dick. And work is very descriptive. He amused himself by pinching and twisting her nipples. Ever so often, he used her buds to drag her down to where she could suck on his tongue like it was his dick.

Other than low moans when she drove him deep into her womb, they were quiet. I didn’t time them but after a while it got fast and furious. Morgan bucked off the bed as he filled her tank. She went crazy screaming obscenities as she let go.

They lay side-by-side breathing heavy for a few minutes then Corrine got off the bed and walked in my direction. The Control Room was twenty feet away but she covered it quickly. I had no idea why Corrine was coming toward me. All I could say, she was one hell of a woman. If she’d been walking through a graveyard, all the male corpses would have popped out of their coffins with a hard on.

She was an incredible sight when she opened the door. Hair was disheveled and there was a wild look in her eyes. Lipstick was smeared. Tits were out of the bra and her nipples were hard and red. The boy shorts were back by the bed and her labia had that well-fucked look. Her clit was bright red and sticking out between her pussy lips.

She maintained eye contact with me as she crossed the room and gracefully stepped up on the arms of my chair. She straddled me and when I looked up I could see drops of Morgan’s spunk decorating her pussy.

She slowly lowered her cunt to my open mouth as she spoke, “You deserve a fresh one, Tom.” She was using one hand to hold the back of the chair to balance while the other opened her labia so I had a clear shot at her pussy.

My mouth was feverishly sucking on the hole Morgan’s pecker had occupied five minutes ago. I wanted what was inside.

“Suck it, Tom. Suck it all out,” whispered Corrine as inhaled her belly button to her spine and contracted her abdomen. That and gravity transferred the bulk of Morgan’s jism to my mouth. My hand was a blur working my dick. Just as I emptied her twat, I blew my load down the front of my trousers. I flopped around like a landed tuna. Some of the come landed on my loafer.

After I popped off the biggest load of spunk ever, Corrine climbed down and walked back to the door. Morgan was there. He’d watched the whole scene. I must have been a sorry sight. My face was smeared with Corrine’s cunt elixir and his pecker juice. There were long stripes of my jism trailing down the front of my navy blue slacks.

When Corrine reached Morgan, he took her in his arms and they kissed. Then he smiled at me and spoke. “I’ve always heard married sex gets boring; but I guess that’s not true in all cases.”

As they walked back toward the set, I wiped off my pants and shoe. I made a mental note to call the lady down at Barnes & Noble to see if she had any books by Nietzsche on the shelves. The abyss had taken over.

Chapter 9 Noreen Fights Back



“You’re going to do what we say, bitch,” demanded Morgan of a screaming terrified Noreen. Five minutes ago, Noreen’s chubby five foot two was standing toe to toe with Morgan loudly informing him that she was from Alabama and there was no way in hell black men were going to touch her. Actually, she voiced her objection more colorfully. I detected a slight trace of a Southern accent.

“You niggers are all going to jail as soon as I can get to a phone,” said Noreen looking straight at Morgan.

“But first we’re going to make a film showing your husband how much you love sex with Afro-Americans,” said Morgan calmly. He seemed taken off stride by the vehemence of her objections. Morgan struck me as the kind who wasn’t used to dealing with the word No.

“No fucking way, my daddy was the Sheriff of Cobb County, Alabama and he taught me only Yankee white trash whores screw coons,” said Noreen after Morgan explained she would be starring in an Al Quarles production of a Tom Meade porn epic. She looked absolutely stunned when Morgan mentioned the three hundred and twenty five thousand dollars her husband owed his bookie. Still, to Noreen it was his problem not hers.

“Put Henry in your stupid nigger fuck film, he’s the one who lost the money,” said Noreen disgustedly.

Obviously, Al Quarles was not the only racist in Indianapolis. Corrine and I exchanged looks of amazement. Being respectable middle class white people, obsessed with political correctness, we knew the proper terms were black men, Afro-Americans, or more genteelly men of color. We understood it was perfectly acceptable for Morgan and the crew to refer to each other as ‘Nigger’ but it was strictly forbidden and dangerous for a Caucasian to include the N-word in his vocabulary. Coon was definitely not PC. It was as bad as jigaboo, spade, and sambo. Somehow Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement had slipped by Noreen unnoticed.

Like I said before, Morgan seemed taken back by her outburst. Maybe, he wasn’t used to someone objecting or perhaps he was feeling a little mellow after fucking Corrine and watching me suck his spunk out of her vagina.

But when Noreen attempted to emphasize her non cooperation by taking a round house swing at his head he blocked only at the last minute, the Morgan we all knew and feared came back into the picture.

He grabbed Noreen’s other hand; then holding both hers in one of his, he slapped her silly. It was open palm to one side of her face followed by backhand to the other. I had a side view. Spit sprayed out of her mouth as her head snapped in the direction of the slap. He repeated the double slap then dropped her to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Noreen was tough because she didn’t start blubbering or begging him to stop. There was a thin line of blood leaking out one nostril and red handprints on both sides of her face. Morgan followed up immediately grabbing a handful of red hair to lift her to her feet. Once standing, he punched her in the gut hard enough we could hear the hiss of the air leaving her lungs.

Still, it wasn’t the kind of bone breaking punch that would have burst Noreen’s spleen killing her. Morgan had pulled his punches else Noreen’s body would be somewhere in an unmarked grave.

“Strip her, Jerome,” said Morgan. Noreen was back on the floor curled up in a tight ball trying to figure out how to get oxygen back in her lungs.

“Right, boss,” said Jerome always anxious to do Morgan’s bidding.

But Noreen was not going to go quietly in the night. She struggled to keep her pantsuit on, requiring Jamal and Kelso to help Jerome. She put up a good fight but a one hundred fifty pound woman, regardless of where in Alabama she was born, is no match for three muscular young Afro-Americans. Two minutes later, Noreen was crouched on the floor looking slightly ridiculous wearing only a pair of those calf length trouser hose.

Her figure wasn’t all that bad. At least her stomach didn’t look like an anaconda that just eaten an explorer. Her tits were large and appeared at least for now to be holding their own against gravity. I’d say she would look damn good for her age if she took off ten, maybe fifteen pounds. The only odd thing about her appearance was that her pubic hair was neatly trimmed in the shape of a heart.

“Are you ready to do as you’re told,” asked Morgan?

“No fucking way, you can rape me but I’m not fucking a pack of dirty niggers,” said Noreen once more prompting Corrine and I to exchange looks of amazement.

I thought about saying something to Noreen to ease her mind pointing out that my beloved wife had been fucking said pack of unclean black men and enjoying the living hell out of it. She was even willing to share the Afro-American body fluids she accumulated with her loving Caucasian husband. But I stayed quiet which is one of the reasons I’m still alive and married.

“Put her on the bed,” said Morgan to Jerome.

Don’t you touch me, you black bastards,” yelled Noreen as they grabbed her arms and legs. They lifted a squalling, spitting, and squirming Noreen off the floor and tossed her on the bed.

“Spread her” said Morgan reaching into his pocket.

Kelso held her arms over her head while Jamal and Jerome each took a leg. She struggled with the three for a moment before realizing it was hopeless and giving up.

“Spread her legs wider,” said Morgan removing a pair of needle nose pliers from his pocket. I have since learned black men consider needle nose pliers an essential part of their kit. Placing the tips around sensitive body parts and applying pressure is an excellent way to encourage cooperation from the female whether that means providing a hummer or fixing a sandwich.

“Keep your nigger hands off me, motherfuckers. Stop it, you’re going to break my legs,” screamed Noreen as they treated her ankles like a wishbone forcing her legs into a split a serious devote of yoga would appreciate.

Her resistance was utterly futile. She was only making it more difficult for me, the director, since my heroine was starting to look the worse for wear.

Morgan demonstrated he was adept at castrating both genders. Noreen screamed in protest as he spread her labia open and freed her clitoris from its fold.

“Hold her still, dammit,” said Morgan to his helpers as he coaxed her clit out with two fingers then placed the business end of the needle nose on each side of the tendril of flesh and squeezed.

My business is sound proof and located off by itself in an industrial park. That was a good thing because Noreen screamed so loud my ears hurt.

“Jesus, they’re killing her,” said Corrine taking a step toward the bed.

I grabbed her arm to stop her. “No, she’ll be okay.” I didn’t doubt for a moment that Morgan was going to convince Noreen to see things his way.

Corrine looked at me then shrugged. Later, she thanked me for stopping her. “I would only have wound up like Noreen with pliers marks on my pussy.”

I held on to my wife as Morgan spent several minutes finding new ways to crush parts of Noreen’s vulva. Noreen proved she was one hell of a screamer. Finally, Morgan’s switchblade appeared in his hand. The very tip of her love button was in the pliers and the nerve ganglia associated with the female orgasm were stretched to an impressive length.

“Are you going to perform or do I cut it off,” asked Morgan holding the blade against the base of her womanhood?

While I do not think, having your clit chopped is on a par with having your testicles removed; Noreen considered her love button important enough to ignore her daddy’s ban on sexual intercourse with the inferior black race. “I’ll do it. Just don’t cut me.”

“Get her ready, Corrine,” said Morgan returning pliers and switchblade to his pocket.

Show over, everyone relaxed except Corrine who rushed to Noreen’s side to comfort her.

“Are you okay,” asked Corrine putting her arm around the sobbing woman?

“Who are you,” asked Noreen recovering quickly? No one had been introduced.

“I’m Corrine, the fluffer. I need to fix your hair and get you ready.”

“I need my purse,” said Noreen. “My medicine is in it.”

Jerome was close enough to hear. He grabbed her handbag off a nearby table and started to hand it to her but Morgan intervened, snatching it away. And it was a good thing he did because he pulled out a nickel-plated semi-automatic pistol.

Morgan held the gun up for Jerome to see then shook his head in dismay before muttering, “Dumb fucking niggers, get us all killed.”

“I need my medicine,” repeated Noreen.

Maybe she did need her medicine or maybe she planned to shoot us. There was no way of knowing.

Morgan ejected the magazine and took a close look at the weapon. “Twenty five caliber Beretta, whore’s gun.” He thought for a moment then slipped it in his pocket. Perhaps he knew of an unarmed prostitute badly in need of protection.

“It was a Christmas gift from Henry,” said Noreen dejectedly.

I gave Corrine a pair of gold earrings last Christmas. I made a note to move up to diamond studs.

Morgan took another look inside the purse then dumped the contents on the table. There were at least a dozen pill phials.

“Vicodin, Percoset, Oxy-contin,” said Moran reading the labels. “Bitch has got herself a regular pharmacy.”

“Vicodin,” said Noreen holding out her hand.

Morgan tossed her the phial then tossed one of the others to Jerome. He took a quick look at the label, opened it, and swallowed a couple of white caplets. He handed it to Jamal who downed a couple. It went around the crew winding up in my hand. The label read, ‘40mg. Percoset.’ I started to put it back on the table but Corrine grabbed it, shook two of the caplets in her hand then popped them in her mouth.

“Gimme,” said Corrine reaching toward Kelso who had just taken a drink from a plastic water bottle. As I watched her take a swallow then hand it back to him, I made a mental observation my wife had been undergoing significant changes in her attitude on several topics.

Pre Quarles, she would never have been willing to take drugs or even worse share a water bottle with a stranger. Corrine was picky when it came to personal hygiene. She even refused to drink after me, objecting to what she referred to as backwash.

On the other hand, she had performed sex acts with Kelso and the others that were downright nasty. I suppose it would be ridiculous to be concerned about a little matter of Kelso’s backwash when you had spent time with his dick in your mouth or your tongue in his ass.

Noreen tapped four Vicodin into her hand then swallowed them. Kelso handed her the water bottle and she washed down her drugs. She looked around at everyone, shrugged her shoulders and made an announcement. “I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”

Corrine swung into action. Noreen’s intransigence had caused serious delay. After a quick discussion about sizes, Corrine rushed off to the prop room while Noreen repaired her make-up and hair. Corrine returned with a pale blue set of underwear that worked well with Noreen’s red hair and fair complexion.

A quarter hour later, a revived Noreen was in the center of the bed masturbating with the aid of a purse sized plastic vibrator. Heavy make-up combined with matching hose and garter belt gave her the requisite slut look. Five naked black males surrounded her bed stroking their cock while our heroine faithfully repeated my words about how much she was looking forward to being filled with black dick. I’d written out some of the dialogue before hand and if I do say so myself, it sizzled.

Tension over, the supporting cast was in a relaxed mood. Under my astute direction, they leaned in to feel and kiss her tits or engage in what is referred to as a porn kiss. That’s tongue kissing with the tongues outside the mouth. Noreen’s smallish light pink tongue made an interesting contrast with the larger darker tongues of the crew. Noreen had apparently made her peace with the situation because she swapped spit with alacrity. Each of the five twisted Noreen’s knobs as they kissed. I had to admit they were good when it came to knowing what turned a woman on. This white boy learned a few things watching them.

Corrine was nearby kneeling in front of Levar who once again had spent the afternoon banging Shelia exhausting his sexual energy. Her pink tongue was traveling the length of his manhood working to restore him to tumescence.

Morgan pulled out his big shiny semi-automatic giving every indication he planned to shoot Levar when he confessed he had repeated his transgression. But after Corrine said she could remedy the situation, he adopted an I-give-up attitude and returned the pistol to its holster allowing all of us to breathe a sign of relief.

“Do it,” said Morgan ordering Corrine to fluff Levar and she, too eagerly for my taste, complied.

The incident made me wonder how good Shelia was in bed. She must be incredible for Levar to risk eating a bullet. Perhaps I should ask him to fix me up. In theory, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with me enjoying interracial sex since Corrine had serviced seven different black men. Rationality returned and I dismissed the idea. Screwing Sheila, whoever she is, might incline Corrine to borrow Morgan’s switchblade and slice my balls off.

I directed each of the six-man crew to take a turn putting his cock in Noreen’s mouth while she maneuvered the tip of the vibrator around her clit. She was either damn good at faking a climax or had one. It really didn’t matter to me.

My second film was more polished than the first. Given I was not working with a pregnant star and had more options. I included Mr. Quarles request for triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position. I used a hand held camera to capture some great close-ups of three black cocks slamming into her orifices. The crew had gotten used to taking direction. There’s a technique to filming porn. You need certain types of close-ups that border on the gynecological.

Noreen’s performance proved interesting. Foolishly difficult at the beginning, once she agreed to perform she didn’t hold back.

I attributed it to the inevitability factor. The bottom line was that she had no choice in the matter. It was going to happen whether she liked it or not, so why get mutilated by Morgan’s switchblade. Go ahead fuck your brains out. No one can blame you. Your asshole husband lost all that money. Later, I realized my logic also applied to Corrine.

Morgan had promised if Noreen cooperated she would get home safely. Corrine had backed up his commitment by telling her the other women (actually there had only been one) were returned to their husbands. I wouldn’t want to be Noreen’s husband, Henry, when she walked in the door with interracial spunk dribbling down her legs.

I’d watched several hardcore porn films since I made my first film. I’d made notes on things I wanted to try. One of the films was called ‘Double Stuffing Coeds’. Noreen’s anus proved it could accommodate Jerome and Jamal’s cock at the same time. Her sphincter remained open after they pulled out and I got a close up of the inside of her rectum. Now that was not porn but art.

“Look at that shithole,” commented an admiring Levar who was holding the light I was using to illuminate the interior of Noreen’s bowel.

Corrine stayed busy with her fluffing duties while I directed and filmed. As we approached the end, the crew once again dumped Corrine on top of Noreen for some girl on girl sex. I watched in amazement as they ate each other’s cunt like their life depended on it. And in a way, it did.

After the women completed their mutual oral session, the guys joined in for a free style gangbang that included Corrine’s sphincter demonstrating it was also capable of being double stuffed. Apparently, I had taught Jerome’s crew something knew in the art of the gangbang.

We ended with Noreen getting her face coated with jism six times over. On my cue, she smiled at the camera as she used the side of her finger to push errant clumps of semen onto her outstretched tongue.

Arriving home at three, Corrine and I did not waste any time when we finally got in bed. Wordlessly, I spread her legs and proceed to bury my face against her vulva and sphincter as we rolled into the sixty-nine position. Her mouth and fingers attached my cock and balls. Once I had noisily consumed the liquid contents of both orifices, I fucked her like a madman. I collapsed as soon as I finished and slept until mid afternoon.

We didn’t have a real conversation until that night at dinner at our favorite restaurant. It took two martinis to loosen our tongues.

Corrine spoke first. “Are you all right with what happened last night?”

“Yes and no,” I answered.

“The yes part first,” said Corrine looking serious.

“I was incredibly turned watching you with Morgan and the others. I’m having some difficulty processing being jealous one minute and getting a hard on the next. I’m not comfortable with myself that I find it incredibly erotic watching you with other men.”

“The no,” said Corrine.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t mean it like you think. I’m concerned that when it’s over and let’s hope that one day it will be, you’ll have regrets and blame me.”

“Given how I’ve been acting with Morgan and his bunch, I don’t see how I could blame you for anything. I’ve lost all self control,” said Corrine placing her hand on mine.

“I’m caught up in it myself. I mean sexually. Last night I would have loved to be one of the men gang banging Noreen. I practically lost it when she kept referring to Morgan and the others using the N-word,” I said.

“She was a tough one. Do you blame me for being a very willing fluffer? I blame myself because I know it contradicts everything I believed in,” said Corrine. “It’s the essence of being objectified as a sex object. I’m just a warm mouth, not a person.”

“No, I don’t blame you. You’re not the one who placed those bets. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for enjoying sex with them. All it means is you’re normal. The bottom line is they’re nice looking men with good bodies and to be honest, they know how to show their appreciation for a beautiful woman like you.”

So the conversation ended on a positive note. When we got back to the house, I slipped a DVD of her and Morgan’s initial performance into the player.

“You filmed us,” said Corrine looking at the screen as we slipped in bed. She opened her night table drawer, removed a tube of lubricant, and applied it to her fingers then transferred it to her sex. The fact she was willing to masturbate in my presence while we watched her having sex with Morgan could only mean that the Meade’s were in new territory.

“Yes, it’s very erotic, especially to me,” I said reaching in my pajamas bottoms to extract my already hard cock as I reached for the lubricant in Corrine’s hand. On screen, she was undressing Morgan. When she removed his shirt, she glued her mouth to his nipples.

“Me too,” she said stroking her sex. She surprised me by delivering a hard open palmed slap to her pussy. Was my normally pain adverse wife undergoing a sea change in that regard too?

We lay side by side in bed masturbating as we watched. After a while, Corrine moved down in the bed to suck me. Next, she mounted me in the reverse cowgirl position so she could watch the DVD. We both finished when Morgan ejaculated and she climbed off the bed headed in the direction of the Control Room to share her newly acquired body fluid.

Too bad, there wasn’t a camera in the Control Room to capture the finale.

Chapter 10 Back To Cheryl


“Nice and smooth, like a baby’s butt,” said Levar running his hand over Cheryl’s newly shaved sex.

My multi-talented wife had used a pair of barber scissors to trim Cheryl’s luxuriant growth down to an an eighth of an inch before she lathered the area and shaved it smooth. Fortunately, I kept a shaving kit in my office for the times I don’t shave then learn I have a client coming to visit.

When it came time to shave the ring of fur surrounding Cheryl’s butthole, Levar helped Corrine by lifting her legs and holding them under his armpits while his huge hands parted her buttocks. He seemed totally enthralled by the process. “She’s got fur around her asshole. I didn’t know women had that, must be just white girls.”

“Black women have body hair but in general less than Caucasians and that applies to males as well. Asians have even less body hair,” said Corrine never missing an ex-school teacher’s chance to pass on knowledge. I don’t think Levar understood a word of what she said. He was too busy running his fingers over Cheryl’s hairy sphincter.

“Let me,” said Levar taking the tube of lotion out of Corrine’s hand.

“All right but take it easy,” said Corrine watching as Levar squirted the white cream on his fingers then gently massaged it into Cheryl’s pubes.

Cheryl had started to move around a little indicating she was coming out of whatever they had drugged her with.

I’d noticed Jerome over to the side getting something ready that involved a bent tablespoon and butane lighter. Still I was surprised when he arrived by the bed with a syringe and a length of surgical tubing.

“What’s that,” asked Corrine?

“Speedball,” said Jerome. “It’ll wake her up and get her going.”

“What’s a speedball,” asked Corrine?

“H and C,” answered Jerome wrapping the tubing around Cheryl’s upper arm.

“And exactly what is H and C,” asked Corrine sounding pissed likes she always does when she gets an answer she doesn’t understand?

“For a woman who claims she was a school teacher, you sure don’t know much, heroin and cocaine, the best of both worlds,” said Jerome taping Cheryl’s flesh to bring out a vein.

“Are you going to swab that,” asked Corrine?

“Fresh out of swabs,” said Jerome preparing to use the syringe.

“Hold it, I’ve got some,” said Corrine reaching into her fluffer’s tool kit for an alcohol swab.

We all watched as Jerome expertly injected the speedball in Cheryl’s arm. He later told Corrine he was a medic in the army.

“That’ll fix her right up,” said Jerome when he was done. “I mixed in a little crank to give her a boost.”

“If it doesn’t kill her,” said Corrine.

“She’ll be fine, ready to fuck her own daddy,” said Jerome.

Cheryl was certainly fine as far as I was concerned. A full head of curly black hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial, attractive, well balanced facial features, long graceful neck, and a tall slender figure in good proportions. She could have gotten work as a runway model.

Lying there nude with her freshly shaved pussy, she had an aura of innocence that was giving everyone a hard on.

I kept questioning how such an attractive female had somehow managed to preserve the membrane sealing her opening. Later, Corrine informed me the belief there were no virgins past the age of thirteen was a typical male fantasy.

“Haven’t you ever heard of Queen Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen? They named a state after her,” said Corrine.

“Which one,” I asked.

“Virginia,” said Corrine looking superior.

That’s what I get for marrying a schoolteacher. Cheryl was the star of my seventeenth porn film for Al Quarles. I kept a spreadsheet on my home PC of the date, time and star of each film. After the first two, it settled into an irregular pattern where every four to six weeks, Morgan would alert me to expect a visit. If any of my employees noticed they didn’t say anything other than one of the female copywriters asking Corrine why there was such an extensive collection of sexy lingerie in the prop cage.

Fortunately, there were no more pregnant ones like Marilyn or difficult ones like Noreen. Except for one who was some losing gambler’s sister, they were all wives in their late thirties and up.

The oldest was fifty-three. She bore up surprisingly well demonstrating her body tissue had retained its elasticity during several double stuffing scenes. The least appetizing was named Lois who tipped the scales at something over two hundred. Lois would not stop crying even when Morgan threatened to slice off the clit she had hidden underneath thick folds of labia. The tears did not prevent her from performing in the usual fashion it just made everything seem a little sad.

Picture a porcine female engage in panoply of different sex acts all the while blubbering like a two year old. Jerome’s crew thought it was a hoot and I believe actually felt sorry for her. One odd thing happened after we finished with Lois. After three hours of being fucked in every position and in every hole by six different men and one woman, she said thank you to each of them and kissed them on the cheek. I suppose that when you looked like Lois getting that much sex in one outing was something to be thankful for.

When I mentioned to Corrine that Lois would be pretty if she dropped fifty pounds, she huffily informed me Lois was beautiful just as she is and that all men including me were so stupid about what makes a woman beautiful. Strange that Corrine who watched her diet and spent the first two hours of each workday at the gym would defend obese Lois. But neither Freud nor I understand women.

Morgan and Corrine continued having sex before each filming. I masturbated as I watched looking forward to when she would arrive in the Control Room with her thighs clamped together so she could share his treasure with me.

Several months ago, our little pre-film scenario underwent a change that had a significant impact on my psyche. I was in the Control Room engaged in self-abuse. Corrine and Morgan were in the bed. Five cameras and three microphones were informing me how much my wife enjoyed fucking him. She was squeezing her tits, riding his pony, all the while muttering endearments such as, “Fuck me harder, give it to me, you beautiful black motherfucker.”

Corrine was going at it with her usual élan when Morgan made a suggestion that since it came from him was a command. “Ask Tom to join us.”

It was interesting he wanted Corrine to ask me. He could just as easily said, “Get your ass out here, Tom.” Did making Corrine ask me reinforce my understanding of where I was in the come chain. When it comes to mind games I’m not very good and Morgan was a master.

Corrine looked up at the camera, smiled and spoke. “Come out and join us, Tom.”

I didn’t bother to put my cock back in my pants before I walked the twenty feet to the set. Morgan’s lean muscled body was lying on his back in the center of the bed. His clothes were neatly folded on a nearby table where Corrine had placed them as she undressed him. The semi-automatic was resting in its holster. Morgan’s other gun was inside my wife.

I stroked as I watched them. Corrine was doing all the work. Morgan wasn’t moving just laying there looking in my direction. He wanted me to notice the obvious. She wasn’t holding anything back. She was pulling out all the stops. Sheen of perspiration covered her back. Her eyes were tightly closed. She was muttering something under her breath. Her fingers had a grip on each nipple and she was working them hard, using her nails. She straddled him leaning slightly forward.

From her backside, I could see his glistening black cock and the way the white skin surrounding Corrine’s vagina clung to it as she raised and lowered herself. Christ, her pussy loved that black cock holding on to it with its own sense of desperation.

Each time she raised her body, I could see her abdomen contract. She was squeezing his dick with her core muscles. It was her Pilate’s breath, in through the nose, out the mouth, lifting her rib cage on the inhale, totally focused.

She wants it to be good for him I realized. No, not just good, great, the best piece of ass he ever had. What does he think I wondered? When Morgan’s downtown on Third Avenue hanging with the brothers, does he tell them about screwing this white guy’s wife? Do they all laugh as he brags about how crazy she gets when his black dick is in her twat? What does he say about me? “The prick jerks off while he watches us. He captures the whole thing on video so he can whack off to it later. And after I dump my load in her cunt, the crazy bastard sucks my jism out and swallows it like it was mother’s milk.”

I wondered if they have an ethnic term for white men who get off sucking black men’s semen out of their wife’s pussy. Corrine mentioned something about cream pie eaters but that didn’t sound like a black man’s slang. At that point the idea came to me that everything about what the three of us were doing turned me on. Even the thought of Morgan telling others about us made my dick hard.

“Tell Tom to come closer,” said Morgan interrupting my efforts to gain psychological insights into what was happening.

“Come here, baby,” said Corrine opening her eyes and looking in my direction. A few steps took me to beside the bed.

“Tom wants to eat your pussy,” said Morgan.

“Eat my pussy, Tom,” said Corrine leaning back to give me access. Her hands were resting on his knees. She let her head fall back as she thrust her tits toward the ceiling. It was an image so hot it seared a black spot in my brain.

I felt like I was in a trance as I started to climb on the bed but Morgan had another idea.

“Tell Tom to get undressed first,” said Morgan to Corrine.

Corrine conveyed his orders immediately. “Get undressed, Tom, so you can lick my pussy while I fuck Morgan.”

I quickly shed my clothes in a pile by the bed; then I climbed on the edge. I hesitated a moment trying to decide what to do next. Three ways were new to me. I leaned in to get a close-up view of his cock as it advanced and retreated. I felt a large powerful hand on the back of my neck. It pulled me down to their joined crotches. The side of my face came to rest on Morgan’s abdomen. My ear was right on his belly button.

Then he did something that almost freaked me out. I felt a large rough hand wrap around my balls and squeeze gently. The last time that happened, the swelling did not go down for three days and a switchblade was involved. But I managed to stay calm and before long, the way he was manhandling my gonads felt very good indeed. Morgan’s action struck me as anything but heterosexual.

Which frankly I am, hetero that is or was up until Morgan happened along. That’s not strictly true. Once, in high school, my best friend and I gave each other a blowjob. Actually it was more than once but we were both more interested in girls than guys. Alex, who works for me as a graphic designer says you’re born either gay or straight and that bisexuality is a fraud. I definitely considered myself straight.

But there I was with the side of my face resting on Morgan’s sweaty belly while his hand was massaging my balls.

“Lick me, Tom,” said Corrine putting her hand on the back of my head to press my face against her crotch bringing me in contact with both her pussy and his cock.

My father had an old saying he liked. “It’s time to fish or cut bait.” It seemed to apply to my situation. My mouth moved forward a quarter inch and started fishing. On the down stroke it lapped at Corrine’s clit that was in a state of expansion I had not previously witnessed. On the uplift, my tongue moved along the shaft of Morgan’s dick.

The smell and taste of her pussy and his cock was driving me over the edge. Not to mention the feedback my pleasure centers were receiving from the way he was stroking my balls.

After several minutes of mind blowing three-way sex, Morgan ordered a change. “Corrine, Tom needs it too.”

Corrine opened her eyes and looked down at me. She rose up, allowing Morgan’s cock to slip out of her pussy onto the side of my face. It felt wet and hot against my cheek.

Corrine took hold of Morgan’s cock and repositioned it at my lips. “Take it, baby, let me feed you his big beautiful black cock.”

While thinking the use of big black and beautiful was excessive alliteration, I opened my mouth, took it in and sucked on it. It wasn’t there long. Corrine was only willing to share up to a certain point.

After a few minutes, I got to repeat the act and later a third time. After that Morgan indicated he was ready to come and it was best effort time on the part of Corrine and me. My mouth sucked and licked the side of his penis as it pounded into Corrine. His hand was massaging my ball sack. He moved his thumb to my anus and pressed it against my sphincter.

“Oh yeah,” exclaimed Morgan as he deposited his load in my wife’s pussy. Corrine responded with her own noisy climax. Hers went on for a long time. Out of breath, she fell forward into his waiting arms.

They kissed for a minute before he spoke. “That was good, baby. Tell Tom he needs to clean me up before he gets his reward.”

Corrine reached down to take hold of Morgan’s softening cock holding it for me. “Lick Morgan clean, Tom.”

Why not I told myself as I performed my janitorial duties. I replaced the coating of his semen and her glandular secretions with my saliva. Morgan rolled off the bed when I was done. I looked expectantly at him. I was hard as a rock and dying to come.

“Corrine, give Tom what he wants,” said Morgan.

Thirty seconds later, I was underneath Corrine getting more than a taste. We engaged in mutual oral. Two of her fingers were in my ass. One hand was massaging my balls while she sucked my dick. My face was buried in her pussy. My tongue was straining to see how far it could reach. I swallowed a mouthful of second hand jism as I pumped my load in Corrine’s mouth.

I was lying there on the bed breathing heavy when Morgan’s cell rang. He answered, spoke maybe two words then ended the call. “Better get dressed Tom or Jerome and his crew will find out you’re queer.”

Chapter 11 Deflowering Cheryl


“I get her cherry. It’s my truck brought her,” said Jerome staking his dubious claim to Cheryl’s virginity.

A dispute had broken out among Jerome’s crew about who would have the honor of deflowering Cheryl Whittaker. I knew her last name because she told Corrine.

Corrine was thoroughly disgusted with the idea of taking Cheryl’s virginity but there wasn’t anything she could do about it other than help her through the experience.

Jerome’s speedball had brought her awake and alert, perhaps too alert. She took one look around and freaked out. Why wouldn’t she? One minute you’re climbing into the brand new Corvette your daddy gave you for your high school graduation when someone grabs you from behind. Before you can scream, a hand covers your mouth. You feel a sharp prick in your arm and everything goes black. You wake up in football field sized room full of sets for making television commercials. You are naked with a freshly shaved pussy surrounded by seven out-of-the-ghetto black man arguing over who gets to fuck you first. It had to be disorienting.

Strangest of all, there is an attractive white couple present. The wife’s dressed in sexy lingerie and there is a big wet spot in the crotch of her thong. Her handsome husband seems nice but he’s obviously not in charge.

Cheryl reacted normally. She panicked and starts screaming. It took a couple of bitch slaps from Morgan to calm her down. That didn’t worry me too much. Corrine had previously demonstrated to the Morgan that pancake makeup could hide facial bruises so knocking her about wasn’t a problem.

Corrine assumed the role of facilitator. “It’s going to be all right, Cheryl. Just do what they ask then you can go home,” said Corrine. My wife was sitting on the bed her arm around the girl who had one hand covering her breasts and the other her crotch. Given we’d all watched Corrine shave her pussy and asshole, her modesty seemed somewhat after the fact.

“Who are you,” asked Cheryl?

“I’m Corrine and I’m here to help you get through this.”

“Through what? What happened”? Who shaved me?” said Cheryl asking her questions in rapid fire.

“I shaved you because they ordered me to,” said Corrine.

At this point, Morgan took over briefing Cheryl. He took a seat on the bed bracketing her between him and Corrine. “Your daddy owes us money. That’s why you’re here.”

“My dad’s a car dealer and he’s rich. Why would he owe you money?” asked Cheryl.

“He likes to gamble and he’s had a run of bad luck. He made a lot of bets he can’t cover. You’re going to help him pay it back by starring in our movie.”

“Movie, I don’t know anything about movies. I’m majoring in Industrial Engineering,” said Cheryl who seemed slow on the uptake. Maybe it was the dope screwing up her brain.

“You’re going to have the lead role in a porn flick titled Cheryl Loses Her Cherry,” said Morgan with a big grin on his face. The man loved his work especially when it required instilling fear and humiliating white folks.

“No, I won’t allow it, no way,” said Cheryl looking around at everyone with a defiant look on her face.

“Sorry, no is not an option. My man Kelso is going to do the honors,” said Morgan obviously enjoying his little chat with Cheryl. He’d also made an executive decision about who got her first.

“Who’s Kelso,” asked Cheryl looking around at Jerome’s crew?

Jerome looked particularly disappointed he hadn’t won the Cherry Popping Contest. Kelso appeared ecstatic.

“Yo, that’s me,” said Kelso moving closer to the bed.

“Corrine, show Cheryl what Kelso’s got for her,” said Morgan.

Morgan’s reason for picking Kelso was obvious; nine thick inches of rock hard penis complemented with testicles the size of navel oranges. It was an instrument fully capable of wrecking even the most cock resistant hymen.

Corrine, moving rapidly from the role of facilitator to fluffer, dropped to her knees and reached for the tab on Kelso’s zipper in one graceful movement. After a quick unzip, she reached in and pulled out his very impressive manhood. Of course, I’d seen and envied it before.

In spite of its formidable appearance, Corrine had proven on multiple occasions it wasn’t too large to fit in her orifices. Still, for innocent young Cheryl, the sight of Corrine’s white hand wrapped around Kelso’s enormous black dick must have been a frightening sight. Its one thing for a nice Caucasian girl to lie in bed and masturbate over a good looking black entertainer, but it’s a whole different ball game when she finds herself surrounded by ghetto trash bent on rape and mayhem.

“What do you think,” asked Morgan?

“It’s too big,” said Cheryl swallowing hard as she stared at the large and growing cock my wife was stroking. Everyone including me laughed at her.

“Don’t worry, darling. Kelso will make it fit,” said Kelso.

“You don’t understand. I took a holy vow not to have sex until I’m married. I swore in church before a statute of Virgin Mary to remain chaste until my wedding night,” said Cheryl.

“Corrine, fluff Kelso while I explain to Cheryl her daddy’s gambling debts have cancelled her vow,” said Morgan.

Cheryl watched wide-eyed as Corrine began to noisily apply her hands and mouth to Kelso’s penis. Morgan let her watch for a minute before he began to bait her again.

“You like to suck cock,” asked Morgan still seated with his arm around her?

“No, it’s a sin to have sex unless you’re married,” said Cheryl at last dropping the arm covering her small breasts.

“Corrine’s married but not to Kelso. Tom, your director is her husband. He gets off watching his wife suck Kelso’s cock. Don’t you, Tom?”

“Yes, I get off,” I said admitting the obvious. My trousers had tented. Morgan had informed his crew on several occasions about my unnatural desires.

“Look, I can’t do this. You’ll have to get someone else,” said Cheryl making me wonder if she was in shock or just plain stupid.

“No, sorry, you’re the one. This is how it works. Corrine will find you something sexy to wear. Tom will put a tiny microphone in your ear so he can give you direction. Then we start making your movie. You do and say exactly what Tom tells you and in three hours, you will be back home safe. Of course, you won’t be a virgin anymore. You’ll be a whore but let’s face it you were going to wind up that way eventually.”

“You don’t understand I can’t do this. It’s immoral,” said Cheryl.

Morgan was losing patience. Out came the needle nose pliers and the switchblade. He pushed Cheryl back on the bed and sat on her. She screamed when he captured her nipple in the pliers. He pulled her nipple further than you would have thought possible, as he took his switchblade out, clicked it open and placed it against the base of her nipple. Cheryl was screaming for him to stop.

“You want me to cut your nipples off and FedEx them to Whittaker Chevrolet,” demanded Morgan holding the blade against the side of her breast.

As I said before, needle nose pliers complimented by the sharp edge of a six-inch blade win every argument.

Between screams, Cheryl agreed to perform. However, I have to admit, the result differed from the others. Cheryl was just too frightened and inexperienced to be convincing as a white woman reveling in black cock. She got through the dildo scene all right but she was a terrible cocksucker even after Corrine at Morgan’s direction gave her a short lesson in oral gratification of the male sex organ.

For the scene where Kelso took Cheryl’s cherry I did something creative. She still refused to cooperate so I fed her dialogue about fantasizing a black gang rape where she lost her virginity. Jerome’s crew had to hold her down. Two of the guys held her ankles lifting and spreading her legs while Jamal pinned her shoulders. Corrine lubricated her opening and stretched it open so I could film her hymen. A pinkish membrane of flesh stood guard at the entrance to the well of life. It was the first time I’d ever seen one which puts me in the company of most men. Today’s girls borrow their mom’s dildos and take care of it when they’re preteen. How many males can truthfully claim they have popped a cherry?

Cheryl was busy praying the rosary with her eyes closed; no doubt wishing it was all a bad dream and she would wake soon back in her dormitory room. At least I think the Pater Noster was what she was muttering. I’m a lapsed Catholic but I recognized the Our Father.

I was lying across the bottom of the bed with a hand held camera when Kelso took position between her legs. Corrine had fluffed him to the max. It was going to be a tight fit.

Jerome’s crew was gathered close by to watch the historic moment.

“Take it slow. Move only on my command,” I whispered as he positioned his cockhead at her opening. The touch of his member caused Cheryl to open her mouth and scream for the Lord Almighty to send the Angel Gabriel to save her honor. I listened carefully but I didn’t hear the flapping of wings.

My camera lens was less than a foot from Cheryl’s vagina. I was determined to capture her deflowering in an artistic fashion I could be proud of. Fortunately, Kelso was lean and his skinny thighs did not block my shot. I was shooting between his legs straight at her vagina. Her pink asshole was slightly gaped open no doubt anticipating penetration in the immediate future. The five robotic cameras were capturing all other angles.

I directed him to go into where he touched her hymen then stop. I had him repeat the initial entry two more times. Corrine had applied plenty of lubricant but it still took a hard shove to wedge her open.

Cheryl was screaming like a banshee between calls for the Virgin Mary to save her from a fate worse than death. She was twisting her body to avoid contact. Kelso demonstrated his knowledge of proper rape technique by pinning her thighs down with his kneecaps.

“This is how you hold a bitch still so you can get inside,” said Kelso pressing his knees into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. I didn’t doubt it hurt.

“Be all over in a minute, honey, and you’ll be a whore just like your Mama,” said Kelso to reassure Cheryl.

“Now, go to the hymen, stop for a count of three then push forward but just enough to get past her cherry,” I said.

The camera captured his body tensing when he was ready to punch through. Then a quick shove ahead with a slight hesitation as the hymen resisted Kelso’s blunt instrument. Kelso’s muscles tensed as he struggled for a moment before lurching forward a couple of inches. A narrow trickle of blood seeped out of her vagina and down to her anus.

“I’m through,” announced Kelso with bravado. “My name’s Kelso Warren so you know who did you the first time.”

I found it hard to picture Cheryl telling a future husband her first time was with a black rapist named Kelso Warren but at least she knew his full name.

“Now, go in slow as far as you can,” I said.

The camera captured the slow descent of Kelso’s penis to the point his balls touched her buttocks. Cheryl squalled in pain and humiliation as her virtue was despoiled.

Best yet from my perspective was a ring of blood immediately formed around her vaginal opening? I filmed several drops falling on the white sheets. I felt like I was transcending pornography to arrive at something that bordered on art. When I told Corrine that latter, she said I was full of shit.

I directed Kelso to pull out so Corrine could once again open and illuminate the no longer innocent aperture. I had my before and after shots of her vagina.

“She’s all yours, Kelso,” I said getting off the bed. The deed was done. Cheryl the Virgin was now Cheryl the Whore. Kelso responded to the solemn moment by placing her legs on his shoulders, bending her double and pounding away. Cheryl’s screams turned to quiet sobs.

“This is one tight little pussy,” said Kelso as he thrust into her.

The next day with my editing system I slowed down Kelso’s penetration. Remember the beginning of the first Star Wars film where Darth Vader’s imperial battle cruiser is pursuing Princess Leila’s smaller ship and it passes right over the camera. It seems to take forever.

Through some clever editing including adding a sound track, I was able to achieve the same thing with Kelso’s cock slowly, very slowly, gliding into Cheryl’s vagina. You would have thought his penis was a yard long.

I felt a little hurt when I showed my work to Corrine and her only comments were, “Why are men so fixated on virginity? Why is being the first to stick your dick in a woman so fucking important?” I didn’t know the answer so I stayed quiet.

The rest of the film followed the usual script. Cheryl’s anal virginity didn’t seem to matter to her outside of the pain of having her sphincter stretched and rectum expanded. However, Jerome acted like he had just climbed Mt. Everest without oxygen after he pushed his prick past her well-lubricated sphincter and entered her unexplored rectum. He high-fived Jamal and Levar.

Interesting I told myself when they placed Corrine on top of Cheryl for mutual oral. I’d expected her to object citing the horrible nature of such an act; but she stuck her tongue on Corrine’s well-fucked pussy and gave it a generous lick. I noticed a sea change in attitude of our former virgin. Where Cheryl had at best tolerated multiple penetrations by Jerome’s crew, she exhibited enthusiasm for eating Corrine’s pussy. And for the first time, she achieved an orgasm from my wife’s talented mouth.

I filmed a different ending than my regular six-on-one semen facial. Instead, actors took turns jacking off on Cheryl’s tongue, covering it with their magic elixir. After she not so proudly displayed her treasure to the camera, I directed her to swallow.

After consuming six loads of jism, she followed my direction to smile at the camera and wave bye. The moment I yelled, “Cut,” she hurried to the nearest trash receptacle and puked her guts out.

Jerome’s crew went into hysterics at the sight of her heaving in a large Rubbermaid barrel. I didn’t think it was that funny especially since I had to wash out the barrel before I left.

Chapter 12 Things Change


“What’s this,” I asked when Corrine threw the Star down on my desk then dropped dejectedly into a chair? It was a little before ten in the morning on a Tuesday. Corrine had just gotten back from the World of Fitness. She had rushed out without changing. My wife looked mighty fine in her spandex shorts and sports bra. There was a sheen of perspiration on her shoulders. I find that highly erotic.

I picked up the paper and looked questioningly in her direction. She had been crying. I’m not a newsperson other than sports and business. Corrine reads the Star start to finish each morning on the elliptical trainer.

“It’s the lead story,” she said looking worried and upset.

I read the headline out loud. “Mobsters gunned down in broad daylight.”

“Just read it, for Christ sakes,” said Corrine.

I was stunned by the first sentence. Alvin Timothy Quarles and Lawrence Morgan Taylor had been killed when they exited an office building in downtown Indianapolis. The office was reputed to contain an illegal gambling operation.

The police were searching for the killers but there were no witnesses. According to the detective in charge of the case, the murders bore the hallmarks of an organized crime execution.

The article further stated Mr. Quarles was alleged to be the head of a multi-state gambling organization that grossed several hundred million dollars a year. Mr. Taylor who had served three years in prison for felony assault had been arrested twice for murder but never indicted or tried. He was alleged to be second in command of Quarles’ organization. The article went on to quote rumors Chicago’s organized crime lords had been seeking to expand into Indianapolis. The article postulated friction between Mr. Quarles organization and the newcomers had led to the murders.

There was a gruesome picture of a small man and a large man lying on the sidewalk in pools of blood.

“My God, we’re fucked,” I said. “The police will find the DVDs.”

“Why, they made us do it. We’re not to blame,” said Corrine reaching for a tissue from the box on my desk.

“I’m not sure the law would agree with you,” I said. “If the police get those discs, they’ll trace them back to us in a matter of hours. The press will have a field day with the story. Local businessman and wife make porn films for mobster using gambler’s wives. We’d be ruined. It would draw national coverage.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Corrine looking dejected. “It would be easy for them to trace the discs to us.”

“It’s our building, our sets, and our equipment. Like I said, we’re fucked.”

“So what do we do,” asked Corrine?

“Go see Marvin. Get ready for the worst. Maybe we can arrange for me to be the one who goes to prison. Keep you out of it.”

“I’m just as guilty as you are,” said Corrine.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “I got you into this.”

“You really think Marvin can help us,” asked Corrine?

“Not personally, he’s a contracts lawyer but he’ll know someone who can.”

The question I didn’t ask Corrine was how she felt about the prospect of not having sex with Morgan and the others. Her tears said a lot. There was also the related question of how much I would miss my role in our three some. I’d developed a passion for burying my face in Corrine’s sperm soaked pussy.

But avoiding prison was a far more serious matter, so I put off the sex issue for now. Based on what you read in the press, prison would mean lots of sex but not the kind I looked forward to.


***


That afternoon Corrine and I spent a half hour in Marvin Phelps’s office describing our relationship with Al Quarles. Marvin had been my lawyer since I took over Carter Graphics. We considered him a friend. At his suggestion we only gave him the bare bones of the story.

“The less I know the better,” was his comment after I told him it involved Corrine and I making pornographic films for the recently deceased Al Quarles to use in intimidating gamblers who owed him money.

I tried to leave out the part about Corrine’s involvement but she wouldn’t have it.

“We worked together. It wasn’t just Tom,” said Corrine correcting me.

“How were you involved, Corrine” asked Marvin?

“Mainly I worked off camera as a fluffer; but I was also responsible for props,” said Corrine.

“Props, what kind of props,” asked Marvin?

“Lubricant, dildos, and lingerie, Morgan wanted the women to be dressed like they were in a porn film. So I had to have hose and garter belts in different sized and colors,” said Corrine.

“Morgan, who’s he,” asked Marvin?

“Al Quarles second in command, he was killed with Quarles. He was in charge when we made the films,” I said.

“You mentioned fluffer, Corrine, I’m not familiar with the term,” said Marvin.

“Sometimes the guys couldn’t get an erection, especially if they had already climaxed more than once. I provided oral sex to restore their hardon,” said Corrine in the matter of fact tone you would expect from someone who performed fluffing duties for seventeen porn films.

Marvin was obviously not a man of the world. He looked confused and even pained before he spoke. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re telling me.”

Corrine became explicit. “I got down on my knees and sucked their cocks until they were hard. They then took said hard cocks and stuck it in one of the orifices of the female who was the star of the gangbang film,” said Corrine. “Sometimes they stuck them in me.”

Marvin could only manage an, “Oh, I see.” Then he was quite for a while before he spoke. “The best man for this kind of case is Scott Reynolds; but there might be a problem given the situation and some of the things that transpired between you and Quarles’ men,” said Marvin.

I asked, “If Scott’s the best man, what’s the problem?”

“Ah, this is difficult,” said Marvin looking pained.

“Just tell us,” I said.

“Scott Reynolds is black. It might be embarrassing given what occurred during the production of your adult films,” said Marvin.

Corrine reacted quickly. “Marvin, the situation is far too serious to worry about being embarrassed. I was the fluffer. I performed sexually in whatever way they required. If Scott Reynolds is our best shot at staying out of jail, I don’t care if he’s an Eskimo.”

“All right, I’ll call Scott and set up a meeting,” said Marvin.



***


Our first meeting in Scott Reynolds well-appointed offices had been brief, less than ten minutes. After I wrote a check for fifty thousand dollars as a retainer, we sat down with Scott and staff.

Corrine had googled his name before the meeting. He was another one of those almost too handsome black attorneys who had developed a reputation for winning tough cases for guilty people. I suppose you’d call him the Indianapolis version of Johnny Cochran.

“Nice looking guy,” I remarked looking over Corrine’s shoulder at the screen. She shot me a look but we left it alone.

The staff turned out to be a young male attorney, Carl Price, a female attorney, Nancy Turner, and a paralegal named Oscar Pearson. Nancy was a very hot looking black woman in her early twenties. She had a terrific figure her tight business suit and short skirt didn’t conceal. Carl was a tall lean type who had once played professional basketball and Oscar reminded me of a nice version of Morgan.

We seemed to be on a streak when it came to meeting good looking black people. Scott’s tastefully decorated office and strictly business attitude impressed Corrine and me.

Scott dropped a question as soon as we provided a brief summary of our predicament. “Do you have any of this material in your possession, any video whatsoever?’

“Yes, we have the unedited raw footage and a copy of the final product we gave Quarles,” I said.

“Where is it,” asked Scott?

“At home, I have an editing computer in our home office. The most recent one is on the hard drive and the others are stored on DVD,” I said.

“Nothing at your place of business,” he asked?

“No, nothing, we couldn’t risk our employees finding out,” said Corrine.

“Please be sure, it’s very important,” said Scott.

We thought a minute before we answered Meade Media was clean. Corrine and I made a point of taking absolutely every frame we shot for Quarles out of the building. During filming, I’d made sure all the digital video was written to a single hard drive and we double checked to make sure we had erased it after we transferred it to disc. Once that was done, I reformatted the disc so it couldn’t be recovered.”

“All right, I want you to go immediately to your home and get every scrap of video you shot for Al Quarles and bring it here. I’m sending Oscar, our resident computer genius, with you.”

“You want us to bring it here? Why,” I asked.

“Assume for now a team of FBI agents will soon search your house and place of business looking for evidence. I don’t want them to find anything to connect you to Al Quarles.”

Three hours later, we arrived back at Scott’s office. All my backups and discs, even the hard drives out of the computer were in a box Oscar sat on the conference room table at the start of our second meeting.


***



“You made seventeen of these for Al Quarles,” asked Scott picking a disc at random out of the box and handing it to Oscar who inserted it in his laptop and got busy with the wireless mouse.

I almost panicked as the wall-sized screen flickered to life. There was Corrine on top of Morgan fucking her brains out. Sweaty, working her nipples, and riding him for all she was worth, it wasn’t where I would have chosen to start. Scott had picked one of the discs I made for Corrine and me to watch during postproduction sex.

“Fuck me, Morgan, you beautiful black bastard. Fuck my hot white pussy,” blared through the surround sound as Oscar adjusted the volume.

At that point, I couldn’t identify which particular film it was. However, it was one of the later ones because yours truly appeared on screen naked with an erection. Nancy gave me a look that made me want to hide under the table.

“I thought you said the films featured wives and girl friends of people who owed Al Quarles money,” said Scott looking surprised.

“This was filmed before the female featured in the film arrived. Morgan always came at least an hour earlier to have sex with the two of us,” said Corrine demonstrating she was better able to handle the embarrassment than I was.

“He came early to have sex with the two of you,” repeated Nancy looking straight at me. “Was it consensual?”

I resisted the urge to confess I was a disgusting pervert who got off watching black gangsters fuck his beautiful wife. Instead I said something stupid that caused everyone including Corrine and me to laugh. “He was carrying a big gun.”

“Given that Al Quarles and Morgan threatened to castrate Tom and cut off my breasts, I’d say it was non consensual at the beginning. However, once it was underway, things acquired a dynamic all their own,” said Corrine looking not the least bit embarrassed we were watching her fuck her brains out. It was one thing to watch the action alone in the privacy of our bedroom. Watching it with Scott and his staff was a whole different ball game.

The so-called dynamic was on full display in high definition video five few feet away. I was on the bed licking Corrine’s clit while she rode Morgan. His hand was massaging my balls. The pad of his thumb was pressed against my sphincter.

“We called it the inevitability factor. If rape is inevitable, you might as well lean back and enjoy it,” was all I could manage as the camera came in for a close up of Corrine holding Morgan’s cock for me to enthusiastically suck. Nancy wrote something on her legal pad.

“So you are gay, Tom,” asked Carl? It seemed a dumb question since he was watching me both eat pussy and suck dick.

Before I could answer Corrine came to my defense. “Bisexual would be more accurate. We both are. I had sex with the women,” said Corrine. “Tom performed orally only with Morgan but in a limited fashion.”

“Limited fashion, how so,” asked Nancy?

“Morgan always ejaculated inside me,” said Corrine.

“And Tom went down on you after Morgan finished,” said Nancy looking at the screen where Corrine was straddling my face and jerking my cock. It was obvious what I was doing.

“Nancy, I’m not sure this is relevant to the issue at hand,” said Scott.

“Only to determine the degree of consensualness,” said Nancy standing her ground.

“I think it’s safe to say it began on a non consensual basis. However, Morgan was an excellent lover and I found myself attracted to his bad boy persona,” said Corrine. “It was an aspect of my personality I wasn’t aware of until I met Morgan.”

“I discovered watching Corrine have sex with Morgan and the others turned me on. Performing orally on her after he ejaculated in her vagina also proved to be erotic,” I said borrowing some nerve from Corrine and looking Nancy straight in the eye. “Until Al Quarles came into our lives, we were a very straight monogamous couple.”

“May I ask why you made a video recording your encounters with Morgan since they weren’t to be part of the final product you provided to Mr. Quarles,” asked Carl?

“We liked to lie in bed and masturbate while watching,” said Corrine matter of factly. After we watched, we had great sex.

“I’m starting to envy your sex life,” said Scott. “Now who is the female?”

My standard porn opening was on screen. An attractive blonde woman was in the bed working a dildo/vibrator into her vagina. Standing around the bed were six black men stroking their hardons.

“Her name was Tricia,” I said recognizing the blonde with the augmented breasts. She was the one who looked most like a porn star. Outside of Cheryl the virgin, she was the best looking.

“Tricia Melons, we called her. Her last name was Simpson, I think. We weren’t supposed to know but sometimes they told me,” said Corrine.

“We’ll need you to help us identify each of the seventeen females involved,” said Scott.

“We’ll do the best we can,” I said.

“Were any of them younger than eighteen,” asked Nancy.

“Yes, that’s very important,” said Scott reinforcing Nancy’s question.

“No, most were in their late thirties or early forties. Cheryl the Virgin was in her early twenties,” I said. “She was a student at Purdue.”

“Cheryl the Virgin,” questioned Scott?

“Her name was Cheryl and she was a virgin,” I said. “In her case, it was her father who owed Al Quarles money. He owns Whitaker Chevrolet.”

“A college girl,” said Carl expressing disbelief.

“May I ask how you determined Cheryl was still a virgin,” asked Scott.

“I put these two fingers in her vagina. Her hymen was still intact,” said Corrine holding up the two fingers she’d used to examine Cheryl.

“It’s on the disc. I filmed the interior of her vagina. There was a membrane of tissue an inch inside her opening,” I said being a showoff.

“You captured her deflowering on video,” asked Nancy?

“Yes, Kelso took her virginity. He was the member of Jerome’s crew with the biggest cock,” I said.

You have all this on DVD,” asked Scott gesturing toward the box of DVDs.

“Yes, it’s in there,” I answered.

Scott and his staff exchanged puzzled looks then he spoke. “Assuming this disc is representative of the others, let’s watch it to the end. Then we should have a better idea of where we stand.”

“It’s representative,” said Corrine.

From somewhere I recalled the girl sex between Corrine and Tricia was incredibly hot. Both women had gone at each other like panthers.

For the next fifty-five minutes, we watched Tricia Melons perform. No one said much as Tricia and her six black partners progressed from simple blowjobs, vaginal intercourse in the missionary position to the more exotic positions with multiple partners engaged in multiple penetrations.

“Was it painful,” asked Scott? We were watching a scene where moments before Tricia had loudly demanded, “Double stuff my whore’s ass, motherfuckers.” With the aid of a couple of pillows, Jerome and Jamal had tilted her into position and managed to get both their cocks in her anus. My close-ups were excellent. And the open hole shot when they pulled out to reveal the lighted interior of her rectum was something any director would be proud of.

“Not really once you’ve been sodomized several times,” said Corrine speaking from experience. That caused the men to look hungrily in her direction while Nancy made more notes. I wondered if Nancy had ever been double stuffed.

The next scene was of Corrine and Tricia having sex. They energetically performed orally on one another then employed a number of different sex toys including the insertion and withdrawal of a string of anal love beads. At some point, Jerome’s six joined them and the result was two sets of triple penetration. Once again, my hand held camera video was intermixed with clips from the robotic cameras producing cock-hardening results.

Scott’s conference room table was glass. The fact Scott, Carl, and Oscar had erections and were having trouble keeping their hands off their dicks did not go unnoticed by Corrine or me. I would have loved to slip my hand up Nancy’s skirt and see if she needed fluid in her differential. Nobody spoke a word as we watched the two white women and six black men engage in various forms of multiple penetrations. I half expected everyone to strip for a lawyer’s orgy; but we managed to stay in control.

The final shot was my standard, captured mostly by the overhead camera, Tricia getting a facial from the six, swallowing as much jism as she could catch in her mouth.

“Wow, that was really something,” said Scott when DVD finished.

“Do you have a background in pornography, Tom” asked Nancy?

“Absolutely not, until Al Quarles came into my life, I never considered making porn,” I said.

“Tom was a videographer in the army,” added Corrine. “We ran a respectable commercial media business.”

“And you were never involved in the porn industry either, Corrine,” asked Nancy.

“Never, I taught school until I joined Tom’s business,” said Corrine.

“You say this was not the DVD you gave to Al Quarles,” asked Carl?

“Correct, if you took this and edited out any appearance by Morgan, Corrine and myself you have what we gave to Quarles,” I said. “Those are in the box, too. We gave Al Quarles a single copy. Of course, he might have duplicated it.”

“In the DVD, Tricia certainly looked willing,” said Carl. “Was she?”

“No, not really, she was kidnapped and threatened with disfigurement if she didn’t make it appear she was eager to service Jerome’s crew,” said Corrine.

“How did he threaten to disfigure her,” asked Scott?

“Morgan said that if she didn’t cooperate, he would cut her breasts open with his switchblade and take out the saline pouches,” said Corrine.

“Ouch” said Scott. “The important thing is the DVD appears to be consensual.”

“They all appear consensual to varying extents except for the one with Cheryl the Virgin. It was only near the end when we went down on each other, she showed any real enthusiasm,” said Corrine.

“Fat Lois cried throughout the performance but was enthusiastic nonetheless,” I said. Corrine shot me a dirty look for mentioning Lois’s weight problem.

“Can you imagine showing all seventeen of these to a jury,” said Carl wistfully?

“Court TV’s ratings would go through the roof. But it’s our job to make sure it doesn’t happen,” said Scott. “I have one final thought and it’s more of a question. What motivated Al Quarles to engage in such an elaborate scheme? I should mention I met Mr. Quarles briefly on a number of occasions but he was never a client.”

“I honestly don’t know. Corrine and I speculated he was bored with sticking a gun in their mouth and threatening to cut their balls off,” I said.

“It plays to the white man’s fear of the black man’s superior virility,” said Carl. “Look, loser, your wife went crazy over these black men. She can’t get enough. That was why it was important they appear willing, even eager.”

“Who says black men are great in bed,” said Nancy smiling at me? “It’s bullshit.”

“Oh well, we may never know. Keep our number with you at all times. If the police appear, say absolutely nothing and call us immediately.”

Chapter 13 On Our Own


“What’s all this,” I asked Corrine after she dumped a bag of adult products on our bed?

“I bought it this afternoon. We need something to get our sex lives back on track,” said Corrine ripping open a blister pack containing one of those vibrating dildos that included a clitoral stimulator and a little bump on the side for stimulating her G-spot. The packaging claimed to use space age materials to achieve levels of pleasure previously unachievable. The days of simple latex had passed.

The something Corrine referred to was our substitute for the sex we had with Morgan and company. It had been ten months since his death. Every day I expected the police to show up and arrest us. The wait was nerve racking and took its toll on our sex life.

But the law had not shown up to take us to jail after a perp walk for the nightly news. The murder of Quarles and Morgan had died in the press after a couple of days. The police hadn’t arrested anyone and had even announced they had no suspects. The public is not very demanding when the victims are known criminals.

I’d buried myself in my work rationalizing we would need huge sums for legal fees when we were arrested. As a result of shrewd marketing, Meade Media had won a major contract producing public service announcements. It was quite profitable and the company was making rapid progress paying off the debt my gambling had created.

Things were looking up in another direction, too. A month ago, Scott Reynolds called to say he was ninety nine percent sure, we wouldn’t be charged. “No one has found the discs and believe me, if our publicity loving District Attorney had them, you would be in jail and he would be on television crowing about what a fantastic job he was doing.”

“Has Simon had any luck finding them,” I asked? Simons Discreet Inquiries was the detective firm Scott hired to find Al Quarles copies of the disc before the police.

“No, he thinks Al Quarles may have destroyed them since they implicated him. But Simon’s going to keep looking.”

“Are you going to destroy the discs I gave you,” I asked? The evidence I handed over to Scott was never far from my mind.

“Yes, eventually, when the stature of limitations has been reached,” said Scott. “If I were you, I’d take Corrine to a nice restaurant to celebrate then screw her brains out. She’s the kind of woman who needs it regularly.”

After I hung up, I gave some thought to his last remark. It struck me as terribly indiscreet for someone who guarded his words as carefully as Scott. Was mentioning Corrine’s need for regular sex just a careless observation from watching her perform on video or was it a more personal assessment? Or stated more directly, had Scott been screwing my wife?

I told myself to quit being a jealous asshole as I walked over to give Corrine the good news. We hugged each other and broke into tears. Facing the prospect of prison and loosing everything we worked for had not been easy. As Scott suggested, we celebrated at Indianapolis’s best restaurant then we went dancing. Watching my beautiful wife sway her hips to the rumba revived my flagging sexual libido. Back home, we’d had sex or the first time in months and it didn’t consist of jerking off together while watching porn.

A week later Corrine showed up with her shopping bag of goodies. She’d left work early saying she had a tennis lesson and some errands to run. When I got home, she followed me to our bedroom.

“I also bought some hardcore interracial videos at the adult store. Let’s watch one together,” said Corrine holding up a handful of DVDs.

Corrine bought five DVD’s featuring white women having sexual intercourse with black men. Black Dicks In White Chicks No. 5 was my personal favorite because one of the girls in the video resembled Corrine. And the way she energetically handled three black cocks at once added to the similarity.

“And I thought you might like this,” said Corrine holding up an odd shaped thick black dildo that had a narrow base and even stranger in my view, a rubber tube connected to a squeeze bulb. It resembled the device my doctor used to take my blood pressure.

“What is it,” I asked?

Corrine read the label on the packaging, “Inflatable anal stimulator, it’s a butt plug that expands after you insert it.” She squeezed the bulb causing the dildo to grow. “Want to give it a try?”

Up to this point in our marriage, sex toys had been Corrine’s province. Not that she had a large assortment. The top drawer of the table on her side of the bed contained three different sized vibrating dildos she had when we got married.

Sometimes when we were lying together, masturbating she would take one out and use it. Mostly, she used her fingers and a bottle of lubricating jelly with a warming agent. She never seemed to have any trouble reaching the Big O.

However, based on what was strewn over our bed, she’d made a quantum leap in her sex toy inventory. One thing I did notice was the color, black.

I started to say something about her choice of hue. But since I had put her through hell with my gambling I kept quiet. “Sure,” I said reaching for the butt plug and a plastic bottle of lubricant.

“No, I’ll do it. I’m in the mood to take care of my man tonight,” she said before kissing me with maximum tongue. “Get undressed,” she said when the kiss ended.

Thirty seconds later I took a position in the center of the bed on my back. Corrine had stripped off her shorts and top. I noted she was not wearing any underwear, which was a bit unusual.

“Lift your hips,” she said grabbing two pillows to slide them under me. “Raise your legs and grab your big toes.”

I lay there like a good boy while Corrine first kissed and licked my anus then covered it with lubricant. Next, she carefully inserted her finger in my brown eye causing me to moan with pleasure.

“You like,” asked Corrine after I moaned at the intrusion.

“I like,” I said noting that Corrine had kissed and licked my rosebud on only two previous occasions both of which involved the consumption of hard alcohol. She refused my request for analingus on other occasions. Obviously, her experience as a fluffer had lead to a new outlook. Jerome’s crew was into having their butt eaten and Corrine obliged.

She positioned the pointed end of the plug at the center of my bulls eye and gave it a little push. It felt huge. “Relax, take a deep breath,” she said stroking my cock when she felt me tense up.

My ass was virgin territory and unused to intruders. I almost panicked when she gave another push and I felt my rectum spasm. “Take it out. It hurts.”

“Relax, give it a second, its nowhere near the size of Kelso’s cock,” said Corrine reminding me of the many times she had been anally penetrated by an oversized black dick. She gave the butt plug a little push as she gave me a spank on my bottom. The sting caused me to think elsewhere and the plug slipped inside me. A couple of deep breaths and the muscle spasm subsided along with the associated pain.

“All right,” I said. “I’m good.”

“Just good,” asked Corrine working her hand up and down my well-lubricated shaft while giving the black bulb a number of squeezes. I heard a hiss of air and felt a tightening in my bottom.

“Yeah, it feels good, damn good,” I admitted reacting to the pressure on my prostate.

Corrine climbed off the bed, wiped her hands on a towel, then selected one of the discs and loaded it into the player. “I got five since they offer a free one if you bought four.”

The inflatable anal stimulator was working as advertised. I managed to reach the bulb and give it several more squeezes. I lowered my legs as the DVD began to play those ridiculous advertisements for eight hundred numbers. “Is this a cream pie video’s?”

“No, I asked Les if he had any DVDs of husbands eating their wife’s pussy after black men had dumped a load in it. He checked his computer but he couldn’t find anything. He said all the felching was either gay male sex or women going down on each other after taking a load,” said Corrine climbing back on the bed between my legs.

“Felching, what’s that,” I asked? The idea of Corrine’s vocabulary of perverted acts exceeding mine seemed wrong somehow.

“According to Wikipedia, the most common meaning is sucking semen out of the rectum. We’ve seen girls felch in porn videos and I felched the women we filmed. It started out as a gay term. After the top man drops his load in the bottom man’s butt, he sucks it out and shares it.”

“Felching, top man, bottom man, you seem to be expanding your vocabulary,” I said.

“A good wife is knowledgeable regarding sexual practices,” said Corrine ending that part of the conversation by slowly stroking my cock for a few seconds then taking it in her mouth as she squeezed the bulb.

Left unsaid was the fact that I was a felcher. On numerous post filming acts of sexual intercourse, I had formed my lips on Corrine’s hard fucked butthole and extracted a semen cocktail deposited by Jerome and crew. Corrine’s newfound knowledge and acquaintances had me beyond curious.

“Who’s Les,” I asked pursuing further information about my wife’s visits to the adult store? Pre Morgan, she would never have gone into such an establishment.

“Manager and owner,” said Corrine taking a break from working my cockhead with her tongue while her fingers pressed into the area underneath my balls. Corrine had always performed more than adequately in the oral department but her experience as a fluffer had moved her up several notches.

“What’s the store like,” I asked quickly reaching a full erection?

“Les runs a good operation. It’s well merchandised and clean. It seems busy. I had to wait in line to check out,” said Corrine.

“Mostly male customers,” I asked?

“Yes, but plenty of females, I’d guess sixty forty male to female ratio, maybe seventy thirty, some couples, too,” said Corrine. “I’ll ask Les next time I’m there if he’s ever done a customer profile.”

I knew the answer to the next question but I pretended I didn’t. “Is there a video arcade?” It was a stupid question since the sign out front advertised the presence of peep booths.

“Yes, in the back. I thought you said you’d been there a couple of times,” said Corrine.

“I did go there twice but that was before we were married. I just wasn’t sure the arcade was still there.” Given all that had happened since my visits, it seemed a lifetime ago.

“Oh, it’s still there,” said Corrine a lilt to her voice. One hand was down at her crotch working the little man in the boat as she blew me.

I decided to pop the sixty-four dollar question. “Did you go in the arcade?”

Corrine rose up on one elbow to look at me. Her hand was fisting my cock as she spoke. “Would you get mad if I did? But first, tell me. Did you go in the arcade on your two visits?”

The answer was yes. I’d jacked off watching videos. “Probably, I can’t remember,” I answered. Why was I being so fucking coy?

“Bullshit, Yes or No,” asked Corrine passing her tongue along from the base of my penis to the tip then engulfing the shaft and taking it down to where her lips pressed into my pubic hair? My cockhead was pushing into her throat. Her tongue was massaging the bottom of my shaft. The woman had talent.

“Yes, I went in,” I answered.

“Did you use the gloryhole?”

“So you know about gloryholes,” I asked? Corrine’s vocabulary had certainly grown.

“Yes, Sandy explained them to me. She said female customers and couples visit the arcade occasionally. You haven’t answered my question,” said Corrine continuing her work on my rock hard pulsating dick. The topic of conversation along with my wife’s talented mouth had me ready to explode.

I asked, “Sandy, now who is Sandy?”

“Sandy is Sandra and she is Les’ significant other, short little brunette covered in tattoos,” said Corrine before repeating her question. “Did you take advantage of the gloryhole?”

“No, the place was practically empty when I was there. Nobody was in the other booths.” I was telling the truth. One reason I had only gone twice was the place was dead and smelled of piss and semen.

“Would you have if you had the opportunity,” asked Corrine obviously enjoying sucking my cock while probing my psyche? Corrine was a psychology minor in college with a major in childhood education.

I gave another honest answer. “Probably not, like I said before. Pre Morgan I was straight. However, hypothetically if I’d had a few drinks and was horny as hell and a penis came through the gloryhole, I don’t know what I would have done. The things I did with Morgan showed me I’m not quite who I thought I was.”

Left unsaid was what I would have done if a guy in the next booth had invited me to send my dick his way. I probably would have done that without too much hesitation.

“Given the right circumstances, who knows what any of us might do,” said Corrine as she pumped the bulb twice.

The anal inflator had reached the point it felt like a log in my butt. I loved the way it was pressing against my prostate.

“So, did you go in a booth,” I asked attempting to delay my orgasm through conversation?

“Yes, but only on my last visit,” said Corrine.

“I’d think the place would be scary for a woman,” I said honestly. Hell, I thought the dark hallway with its two rows of peep booths was creepy when I was there. I wasn’t sure the door to my booth would lock. And in those days, I would have freaked out if someone had walked in with a hard on expecting me to suck it.

“Les promised to keep an eye out for me on the security camera,” said Corrine. “Sandy and Les bought the place a year ago. She says they’ve made a lot of improvements.”

I made a suggestion. “You should have asked Sandy to go with you for a little girl on girl action.”

“I didn’t think of that but maybe next time,” said Corrine before allowing a mouthful of warm drool to fall slowly on my cock. It landed right on the tip then spread down over the shaft.

I tried to picture Corrine in a booth kneeling on the jism stained linoleum jerking off the cock on the left while she sucked off the one on the right. Rather than cut to the chase, I decided to hang back a little. “What did you watch?”

It was a moment before Corrine could answer. Her lips were pressed against my pubic hair. My dick head was being squeezed into her throat opening while her tongue was licking the underside of my shaft, its tip flicking my scrotum. Under the circumstances, I waited patiently for an answer.

“I kept pushing the button to change the DVD. There were over a hundred different selections, even fetish films with S&M or women peeing on guys. Afterwards, Les showed me the equipment room. It was quite impressive.”

I wasn’t ready to change the subject. “So what did you watch mostly?”

“There was an interesting one where a pretty blonde girl was being gangbanged by a group of blacks and Latinos,” said Corrine. “And there was a bisexual one with two males and a female. One of the guys was black so I found it erotic when the white guy sucked the black man’s cock while the girl used a dildo,” said Corrine.

“That does sound exotic,” I said struggling not to blow my load.

“There was a very interesting film with a transsexual who was drop dead gorgeous with a terrific figure and a ten-inch cock. She was doing two men.”

“He was doing two men,” I corrected.

“If you saw him at the mall, you would never think he was a man,” aid Corrine.

I kept trying to distract myself in order to delay my orgasm but the topics under discussion weren’t helpful. “Did you masturbate?”

“Of course, silly, isn’t that what those booths are for? There’s even a box of tissues to wipe up the jism,” said Corrine gently squeezing my nuts with one hand.

Corrine wore pants most of the time. On our date nights, she would wear a dress or a skirt and blouse if we were going to a nice restaurant. “Were you wearing a skirt?” I asked?

Her answer was cock hardening. “A tennis skirt, I went there right after my lesson. When I got in the booth, I slipped my panty off and put it in my purse. I forgot to put it back on after I finished.”

My sexy wife had been shopping in an adult store wearing a tennis skirt and no panty. I pictured her bending over to pick something up. I was surprised Les or someone didn’t rape her. On the other hand, maybe they didn’t have to.

“What did you do then,” I asked teetering on the verge of blowing my load down her throat?

“I put a ten dollar bill in the machine then put one foot on the trashcan and the other beside the screen and jerked myself off.”

“And the gloryholes,” I asked?

“Oh yeah, I jerked him off. He wanted me to suck it. They both did. But I decided on my first visit to stick with hand jobs.”

“How many hand jobs did you do”

“Three, then my arm got tired and I had to get home and change,” said Corrine before making a strong and successful effort to bring me to climax.

I orgasmed so hard my scrotum collapsed into a tight hard ball the size of a walnut. I’m not sure there was a sperm left on board when she emptied my balls. I heard the hiss of air escaping from the butt plug and relaxed as it deflated. Corrine pulled it out of my ass. I lay there a while with my eyes closed while she got off the bed and opened several packages.

“My turn,” said Corrine lying down beside me. She handed me two large dildos and a tube of lubricant. She deftly raised her hips and slipped two pillows underneath her butt.

“Is that story true,” I asked looking up from my position between her legs?

“Of course, put your tongue in my pussy to see how wet it is,” said Corrine raising her legs then pulling them back to where her ankles were interlocked behind her neck.

Corrine is super flexible. She attributes that to yoga. “That never ceases to amaze me,” I said spreading her fluid coated labia with my thumbs. There was a thin trickle of a clear liquid oozing out her vagina toward her sphincter.

“Come to yoga with me. With practice you could do it,” said Corrine.

Is there anything on the planet more irresistible than a warm wet pussy just begging to be eaten? “I’m going to pretend you did,” I said attacking her anus with my mouth.

“Did what,” asked Corrine?

“Went back in the video arcade and let guys fuck you,” I said before forcing my tongue past the ring of muscle guarding her rectum. Was she just being a tease or had working as a fluffer turned her into the kind of slut who frequented adult video arcades?

“I didn’t but we can pretend,” said Corrine giggling like a schoolgirl at my mental discomfort.



Chapter 14 We Join the Group


Over the next months, we’d covered most of the previously uncovered possibilities of couple’s sex. Beginning the night Corrine brought home a shopping bag of marital aids, we started a feverish quest to find something that produced the same level of wow we got from making porn videos for Al Quarles.

We worked our way through all the positions of the Kama Sutra I was flexible enough to attempt. Some of the position should only be attempted if you are contortionists. We followed up by exploring different kinds of fetish and role-play. I was too mature for infantilism.

We gave bondage-discipline-sado-masochism a thorough but ultimately unsatisfying examination. My cock didn’t get hard when Corrine paddled me while I was spread eagle on the bed secured by Velcro connected nylon straps unless I imagined it was Morgan or Nancy swatting my derriere. I got my rock off pretending the hard paddle was Morgan’s hand.

But in general, pain wasn’t a turn on. I can’t say the same for Corrine but the problem there was I didn’t get off on being the pain giver. She had her fastest time to orgasm ever when I applied a ridding crop to her nipples while she pressed one of those spot massagers against her vulva. The fact her eyes were closed and she kept yelling, “Harder, you black bastard,” emphasized we were not looking in the right direction.

Ultimately, role-play struck us as plain silly compared to the real life roles of porn director and fluffer for Al Quarles.

We gave up on the rest of the sexually out there menu other than one rather bizarre niche referred to as Japanese rope bondage. For some unexplained reason I found it intriguing if not overwhelmingly erotic.

I had been an Eagle Scout and a member of the Order of the Arrow so I was no stranger to knots. I could still tie a half hitch or a sheepshank. Still I was mildly surprised when Corrine emailed me the URL of a WEB site dedicated to something called Nawa Shibari along with a brief comment. “We should try it.”

I now have a box in my closet containing different colors and types of expensive hemp rope along with an assortment of bamboo poles. I even purchased a couple of how to volumes and a large book of color photos made by one of the true masters of the rope.

There are also a number of stills of Corrine in various poses that the Japanese refer to as art and I consider cock-hardening porn. I recently made a ten-minute video of her in several of the advanced poses. My favorite is of her balancing on one foot where each tiny movement caused the crotch rope to stimulate three critical points: anus, vagina, and clitoris.

I found Japanese rope bondage interesting as an exotic form of human pleasure but still didn’t quite have the kick of watching Corrine screwing Morgan or performing her fluffer duties; not to mention orally extracting the fluids found in her orifices afterwards.

After running the gamut of sexual practices, we arrived at the inescapable conclusion there was something missing. We both knew what it was. I hesitated to bring it up but Corrine didn’t. We were eating dinner at home when she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and spoke.

“I think we need to be totally honest with one another,” said Corrine making her opening gambit.

Although her remark seemed ambiguous, we both knew what she meant. I felt a sense of relief we were finally ready to discuss the matter openly still I hesitated to speak frankly. “I agree. I assume we are going to talk about sex? Because if we are, I have some things to say.”

“Of course, sex is the topic. Do you want to go first or should I?”

I poured us another glass of wine while I considered whether to start; then I gracefully wimped out. “You were the one with the courage to bring it up first so why don’t you begin.”

“I don’t miss the violence or the awful things we did to those poor women but I do miss the sex,” said Corrine in one breath.

I suppose it’s not easy for a respectable middle class white woman from a devout Lutheran family to admit to her husband she craves black cock in a group format.

“So do I,” I said. “Even though it means I’m a voyeur and bisexual and even worse.” For some odd reason, I did consider my desires worse than Corrine’s. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it involved the guilt associated with me wrapping my lips around Morgan’s cock or the feeling I got when he took hold of my balls and pressed his thumb against my sphincter.

“What do you miss the most,” asked Corrine?

I wasn’t really sure what I missed most but I opted for the safe answer, “Watching you having sex with black men then having sex with you afterwards.”

“Black men only,” asked Corrine. “That sounds so racists.”

“I know. I’m not saying I couldn’t get off watching you with an American Indian, an Oriental or even another white man but I’d prefer a black man,” I said.

“Me too, it must have something to do with historical guilt about slavery, lynching, and segregation,” said Corrine. “Who the hell knows what’s buried in our white liberal psyche? One of my ancestors was in the Klan.”

Most people associate the southern states with the Knights of the Klu Klux Klan; but the awful truth is that Indiana was the state where the Klan reached its zenith of power in the early nineteen hundreds. There was a period in this state when you couldn’t be elected dogcatcher unless you had the Klan’s endorsement. And the state had more than its share of lynchings. Still, I had no idea how this impacted our sex lives a century later.

“We’re certainly not alone. There are thousands of hardcore WEB sites featuring sex between white women and black men. So I don’t think we’re that unusual,” I said. I’d hadn’t told Corrine, three of them were charging my personal credit card $9.95 each month for the pleasure of looking at pictures and downloading video of excessively augmented blondes having intercourse with incredibly well endowed black studs.

“Weird, huh,” said Corrine. “Before we got involved with Morgan and his crew, I never gave black men much thought. Of course, I thought black movie stars and athletes were handsome but I didn’t picture myself in bed with them.”

“Black men were not in my sexual universe either,” I said. “Actually, neither were black women.”

“How do you feel about black women, now? Would you do Nancy if you had a chance?”

“Scott’s Nancy, Nancy Whitman,” I asked? The question threw me off. I suppressed my urge to say I would love to fuck Nancy. Her picture was on her firm’s WEB site. I’d jacked off looking at it imagining those full brown lips wrapped around my white cock.

“Do you know any other attractive black females named Nancy?”

“No, but your question surprised me. I suppose I would. Would you like to watch us?”

“Maybe, yes, I suppose so,” said Corrine. “I’d like to go down on her. You’re not the only bisexual in the family.”

“You had oral sex with seventeen different white females. How do you feel about that?”

“I won’t deny I liked it. You can see that on the video. I never faked an orgasm when they were eating my pussy,” said Corrine. “That brings up another sex and gender issue.”

“And that is,” I asked but I knew.

“You sucked Morgan’s cock. How did it make you feel?”

“Guilty, concerned about my sexual orientation, but I’d do it again if I had the chance. The fact I could taste your pussy on it made it so hot. If it was just Morgan and me, I’m not sure I would be interested.”

“Is that a completely truthful answer,” asked Corrine?

“Not entirely, his thumb on my butthole felt good so who knows. If Morgan had wanted to sodomize me I would have gone along because it was Morgan and he scared the shit out of me. But maybe I would have liked it and begged for more. Who the fuck knows!”

“It turns me on when I know you’re watching me having sex with black men,” said Corrine. “I’d loose all my inhibitions when I’d looked over and saw you jacking off watching me ride Morgan’s cock. It was the most intensely erotic experience of my life.”

“So we have a sexual problem that needs solving,” I said.

“I think sexual need is a more accurate term than sexual problem.”

“You’re right, of course,” I said

“Yes, so how would you summarize it,” asked Corrine who had a schoolteacher’s tendency to neatly summarize the day’s lesson. There was a certain so-what-have-we-learned-today-class tone to her voice.

I could tell from the start she was leading the conversation somewhere. I spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts before I started. “Couple’s sex has proven incapable of meeting our sexual needs. We require sexual intercourse involving others, specifically black males, possibly black females too. How am I doing so far?”

“Good, continue,” said Corrine praising her favorite student.

“I desire to watch you screwing black men and participate myself at some level. You want to have sex with black men while I watch. You find my presence and joining in adds greatly to the level of sexual intensity,” I said.

“You didn’t mention the matter of eating Morgan’s cream pie,” said Corrine being both critical and constructive.

“I wasn’t sure how it fit in plus it strikes me as unmanly and homosexual. Although it’s hard to imagine a gay man with his head buried between your legs sucking come out of your vagina,” I said acknowledging my most guilt ridden desires.

Corrine put her hand on mine and spoke. “I think it’s wonderful we can be so honest with one another about our feelings. Most couples couldn’t do that.”

I squeezed her hand before I answered. “We’ve been through a lot but we’ve stuck it out and stayed together. I love you with all my heart.”

“I love you too, darling. And I have something I want to run by you,” said Corrine.

“All right, go ahead,” I said taking a sip of wine. I was right about our discussion leading somewhere.

“Suppose there was a group or club where we could both satisfy our desires, would you be interested,” Corrine asked?

I answered without hesitating. “Yes, provided it met certain criteria.”

“What criteria?”

“Discretion and safety would be my main ones,” I said. “We are business owners whose personal reputation is closely linked to Meade Media. If word got around, we were some kind of sexual perverts; it could hurt the company with those hypocrites who spend Sunday morning at church and Sunday afternoon whacking off to Internet kiddie porn.”

“Understood, discretion is guaranteed and so is security,” said Corrine.

“So tell me,” I said not wanting to seem too eager.

“I’ve recently learned of a club for black and white couples with our type of needs,” said Corrine. “From what I’ve know, it sounds perfect for us.”

“Right here in America’s heartland,” I asked? Indianapolis wasn’t exactly Sodom or Gomorrah.

“It’s nationwide but yes, it has a local branch,” said Corrine.

“Tell me more,” I said.

“The black couples are in charge. They use us for their sexual pleasure including bisexually. It meets once a month for an orgy. We have to attend nine of the twelve parties annually to remain in the club. There’s a special party in the fall and attendance is mandatory. And once every quarter, we’re on call for black couples.”

“How do they decide who can join,” I asked? I could tell from the expression on Corrine’s face, she was more than casually interested in our joining. So far, she wasn’t the only one interested.

“Membership is by invitation only. There’s a vetting process. The local chapter is limited to forty couples; half are black and half white. No racially mixed couples are admitted. Only married couples can join and only married couples can remain as members.”

“Eighty people, not exactly small, does it have a name?”

“I’m sure it does but I don’t know it. They’re very secretive,” said Corrine.

“How did you learn about it,” I asked? Corrine had two primary sources of outside information, Planet Fitness and the Adult Store two exits away. Neither seemed a likely source of such esoteric knowledge.

“Scott told me. He and Nadine are members,” said Corrine. “In fact, he is willing to be our sponsors.”

I halted a moment to process the fact Attorney Scott McReynolds had discussed our joining a sex club with my wife and I didn’t know a damn thing about it. “Why didn’t Scott tell us both about the club?”

“I asked that question. Please don’t let his answer upset you. He said white husbands are usually willing to join but wives less willing. So if I wasn’t willing, there was no point in mentioning it to you. They try to keep the club’s existence as quiet as possible.”

“Sounds logical, I wasn’t aware you and Scott had been talking recently,” I said feeling a bit miffed. If handsome black Scott was banging Corrine, I wanted to watch and enjoy the aftermath.

“We had lunch last week,” said Corrine.

“Only lunch,” I said.

“His wife Nadine was present,” said Corrine.

“For a three way,” I asked?

“Nothing sexual happens until after we join; then we can do a three way or a four way if you like. Nadine said she has a real thing for white men, especially those who are into oral,” said Corrine. “Also Nancy Whitman and her husband, Greg, belong which means you’ll get to screw her.”

“Did you agreed to join,” I asked picturing myself between Nancy’s legs driving my dick in her hole?

“Without you, of course not, we both have to agree. Do you want some time to think about it? Scott says we have until the weekend to make up our minds.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested,” I said after hesitating long enough for Corrine to believe I was really weighting the pros and cons. Of course, I wanted to join.

“We may not get in. There’s a vetting process before a selection committee,” said Corrine.

“With your face, figure, and supercharged libido, it’s a lock. I’m the one they may not want,” I said.

“Nadine said you were hot and she was looking forward to getting to know you better,” said Corrine.

“How would she know that? We’ve never met.” I got that sentence out before I realized she’d seen me on video extracting Morgan’s come from Corrine’s vagina. “Oh, I see. So what’s the next step?”

“We spend an afternoon with the selection committee,” said Corrine.

“Doing what exactly,” I asked.

“Whatever they tell us to do, all kinds of sex,” said Corrine.

“Including gay sex,” I asked?

“Yes, but let’s call it bisexual. No one’s really gay,” said Corrine drawing a distinction some would argue with.

“So I will be sodomised,” I asked?

“Yes, both ways,” said Corrine.

“What do you mean by both ways,” I asked?

“Males are expected to be both pitcher and catcher. White club members are not allowed to discriminate based on gender; but black members can be strictly heterosexual. According to Scott, that’s the number one difficulty in finding acceptable white couples. There are lots of white couples where the husband doesn’t mind if the wife eats black pussy but he wants nothing to do with black cock.”

“Just so I’m clear on this. If a black man wants me to suck his cock or take it up my ass, I’m required to say yes,” I said.

“Right, and if he wants to suck your cock or fuck him, you’re required to oblige. And I have the same rules as you,” said Corrine. If any of this is a show stopper for you, I’ll tell Scott we aren’t interested.”

“No, I want to join.” I said with a firmness that surprised me.



Chapter 15 Longwood Motor Court




“Are you sure you’re all right with this,” asked Corrine as I got in her car. Mine was in the shop. We were taking the afternoon off to attend a meeting at Longwood Motor Court out on Route 37. The instructions for getting there were in my pocket. According to Mapquest we were forty-six point five miles and sixty-three minutes away.

“We discussed this until we’re worn it out. We both agree it’s something we want,” I said. “Drive, woman.”

“Are you nervous,” asked Corrine once we got out on the highway?

“Yes, I’m concerned they’ll declare me sexually inadequate and refuse to admit me,” I said trying to keep it light.

“That’s not likely,” said Corrine.

“My dick’s too small,” I said. “Those black studs will make my weenie look tiny. Everyone will laugh and point at me. They’ll call me needle dick Tom.”

“You’re being ridiculous. I’d rate your cock as larger than average plus you have both staying and recovery power,” said Corrine playfully grabbing my crotch.

“Thank you, but you’re being kind,” I said pushing her hand away.

“And more importantly, you have a very talented tongue. Black women love having a white man eat their pussy. Its one advantage white males have over their Afro-American counterparts. Black men do not like to go down.”

“And how would you know that, Mrs. Meade,” I asked. As far as I knew, Corrine did not have any close black girl friends.

“Personal experience, Jerome’s crew ate pussy when you directed them to but I could tell their cocks were not into it. And I read it on the Internet. Besides, everyone knows it’s true.”

“Scott and his wife won’t be there,” I said opening up the possibility she had been having three-way sex with the Reynolds.

“No, we won’t know anyone. The Reynolds are our sponsors and sponsors aren’t allowed to test applicants. There’ll be four Afro-American couples plus one other Caucasian couple hoping to join.”

“So we white folks are outnumbered,” I said.

“I’m used to worse odds,” said Corrine thoughtfully. “The important thing is to do whatever they ask. This is a test of obedience as much as anything.”

Somebody had provided her insight about the selection process and that had to be the Reynolds. They were the only ones we knew who were members. I shoved the thought of Corrine doing Scott out of my mind and kept the conversation going. “Even if it means taking a cock in my ass,” I said.

“You can handle it. We’ve proven that,” said Corrine.

Yes, I could handle anal intercourse. Corrine had purchased strapon dildos from Les and Sandy then trained me to take a big one in my butthole. My wife had sodomised me every night for the last ten days to make sure I was prepared.

The pain was almost unbearable the first time but it got easier. Even though initially I demanded she take the goddamn thing out of my rear, Corrine held on, slamming it home until my cries for mercy turned to moans of pleasure.

In point of fact it went from painful to pleasurable too quickly for my peace of mind. Looking forward to your wife fucking you in the ass can cause you to doubt your commitment to heterosexuality.

Last night on a final run through, I jerked off as Corrine straddled my upturned ass and drove a ten by three artificial penis down my Hershey highway. Within two minutes of penetration, there was a puddle of semen underneath me and I was ready for eight hours sleep.

I found it quite erotic watching my wife walk around our bedroom with a black dildo protruding from her crotch. She’d bought two versions of strapon penises. One used waist and thigh straps to hold it in place. However the other type was strapless. So why do I refer to it as a strapon? The packaging identified the product as a strapless strapon.

Sandy had informed Corrine the strapless was a new design she had tested on Les with excellent results. Constructed of a pliable substance whose texture was designed to stimulate deep tissue, it was a double-ended black monster prick. An odd shaped dildo that vibrated and fit deep in Corrine’s vagina anchored it in place. Apparently it molded around her G-spot like a glove providing the wearer with extremely pleasurable sensations.

Corrine much preferred the new product claiming she could achieve multiple orgasms fucking my ass. From my point of view there was no difference other than what made her happy made me even happier.

As we drove, we switched topics. We talked about work for a while. Meade Media had won another large contract. I was looking for additional office space and personnel. We discussed the pros and cons of various locations and perspective employees we’d interviewed. The time passed quickly and before long I saw the sign in the distance.

“There it is,” I said. “Any final words of wisdom?”

“Just remember, they are in charge so do as you are told. We are their bitches,” said Corrine pulling off into the motel’s parking lot. In support of my much put upon wife who had sacrificed her morals to preserve my balls, I squared my shoulders and put on my game face. We were five minutes early when I knocked on the door of Room No. 122.

“You must be Tom and Corrine, welcome, I’m Bob,” said the smiling black man who opened the door and extended his hand. “Ted and Jean are already here.” There was a white couple seated on the bed looking expectantly at us. “Come in and we’ll introduce you.”

It was a first name only introduction. Our door greeter’s wife was Rachel. They looked to be in their thirties. They were a contrast in body types. Bob was a lean six-footer while Rachel was short and anything but lean. She had a big round ass and her idea of greeting a white man was to embrace him for a serious tongue kiss. Mindful of my desire to join their club, I swapped spit and tongue fenced with her for a decent interval.

“Are you going to be my white bitch,” asked Rachel when the kiss ended?

“I plan on it,” I replied tactfully.

The next black couple was Ralph and Suzanne both average builds. You could say the same for Martin and Carol although Carol had a large rack and the thin material of her cotton sweater didn’t leave any doubt about the location and size of her nipples. The way she held herself when we shook hands signaled she was proud of those puppies and expected me to pay them a lot of attention. I didn’t see a problem with that.

Marshall and Connie were couple number four. They were the handsomest of the four. Marshall was one of those black men with large knobby shoulders, muscular arms and chest and a very small waist. Connie reminded me of Scott’s Nancy so I was interested in what was under her tight fitting jeans.

An open adjoining door connected Room No 122 and Room No. 124. Each room contained a king sized bed. The furnishings were standard motel, not new but not worn out either.

Our competition, Jean and Ted, appeared relaxed. Jean, a slightly overweight motherly type, was certainly no comparison to Corrine figure-wise. And, if I do say so myself, balding Ted, didn’t exactly measure up to me. However, since Ted’s loose trousers could have concealed a twelve incher and Jean could be the oral equivalent of a Category 3 tornado, I decided to treat them as serious competitors.

First name introductions over, Bob made an announcement. “The four of you undress then I’ll explain how everything works.”

White folks get to undress first I realized, as I got busy with my shirt buttons.

In my analysis, the club was the result of combining black anger, white guilt and mankind’s love of sex. A trained psychologist would have a field day probing the psyche of the members. I didn’t consider myself a racist except in the sense of neglect. I didn’t have any black enemies nor did I have any black friends. If Al Quarles and Morgan hadn’t shown up in our lives, I doubt we would have given Afro-Americans more than a passing thought.

As soon as we undressed, Bob issued further instructions. “Tom, you and Jean lay together on the right side of the bed. Ted and Corrine take the left.”

Interesting, they separated Corrine and I. I suppose it was to take away our comfort zone. As we lay down, the four black couples stepped closer to get a good view. It was kind of weird laying naked with eight fully clothed people starring at us. After a while, they asked us to assume various positions and do cute things like get on all fours then reach back and pull our butt cheeks apart.

Even a king sized bed gets crowded when there are four adults. Ted and I were touching shoulders and hipbones. I’d let Jean take the outside. Inspection over, the four of us lay there with our arms by our sides in what Corrine would call yoga corpse pose.

“Relax and cuddle up while I explain the rules,” said Bob.

“We don’t bite,” added Rachel.

“I do,” chimed in Marshall causing a titter of nervous laughter.

I turned toward Jean and put my arm around her and we spooned. She snuggled her back and bottom against me. My cock was nestled in a strange woman’s butt crack for the first time since before I got married.

“First of all, you can leave at any time. If you find this isn’t your scene, then get dressed and depart with no hard feelings. The Club isn’t for everyone. Understood?”

We all muttered agreement.

“The Club doesn’t allow condoms so if you can’t handle a penis not wearing a party hat you should leave now.”

“We’re a meat to meat operation,” added Rachel eliciting a disapproving look from Bob.

Corrine and I were used to unsafe sex with black men. Not a single one of the condoms she’d set out when making Quarles’ videos had ever been used.

“No problem, Ted and I prefer bareback,” said Jean moving her ample bottom so my penis moved further into her crack. She also took my arm that was loosely draped around her waist and moved it to her breasts. I obligingly captured a nipple between my fingers. A glance to the left revealed Ted was tightly wrapped around Corrine. His arm was breast high.

We later learned Jean and Ted were experienced swingers. They’d belonged to a local wife-swapping group that was an affiliate of a national organization. Through the swinger’s club they’d met a black couple who introduced Ted to the pleasures of sucking black semen out of Jean’s orifices. “I always loved Jean’s cream pie but it was a thousand times better when it was a chocolate cream pie,” was how Ted expressed it.

Since Jean also turned out to be a lover of all things black when it came to sex, their new found friends suggested they apply to Black Masters & White Slaves or BM&WS for short. In fact, it was Ted who first told me the rather awkward but apt name of the club.

Over time, Jean and Ted turned out to be friends. They were a pleasant, energetic duo that shared a love of serving as sex slaves for Afro Americans.

“Bare back is fine with us,” added Corrine.

“Good, the only other rule is we’re the masters and you are the slaves,” said Bob.

“Actually, there were a host of other rules but we didn’t find out about them until we were members. For example, white couples AKA slaves were not allowed to recommend new members. Slaves could not be involved in any facet of the club management or administration. Monthly dues were two hundred dollars a month for slave couples, fifty for masters.

A month before, Corrine had mailed our membership application to a post office box. Along with the paperwork was a check for five hundred dollars and a full frontal nude photograph of the two of us.

Love of sex makes you do crazy things and paying five hundred dollars to cuddle up with pudgy Jean while Ted grinds his dick on my wife’s gorgeous ass was one of them.

“Here, girls, we don’t want the gentlemen blowing their load until we Masters give the word,” said Rachel handing Jean and Corrine a small leather strap studded with snaps. “Suck them hard and lock them down.”

I recognized the strap. It was a type of cock ring. Up until that moment, I had never owned or used a cock ring. I had a rough idea how they worked. It turned out they were standard equipment for male slaves who were expected to maintain an erection for prolonged periods.

Fortunately, Jean was no neophyte when it came to installation. She took the strap from Rachel rolled me on my back and began jacking my penis in one continuous motion. When I looked over at Corrine and Ted, I was surprised to see his cockhead was already in her mouth. One hand was stroking his shaft and the other massaging his balls. Like I said before when Corrine commits, she doesn’t hold anything back.

Since the subject of cock rings had never been broached between us, I had no knowledge as to the depth of Corrine’s understanding of the topic. Was this one more area of expertise, she had mastered on her visits to Sandy and Les’ adult store? Were cock rings as common as cocks in the arcade? My poor judgment having compelled my wife to become a fluffer, I was not in a position to remonstrate if she had gained her knowledge at someone else’s crotch through an arcade gloryhole.

Jean was a skilled fellatrix whose mouthful of warm drool quickly produced the desired result. I was rock hard at maximum length when she placed the strap around the base of my manhood, pulled it tight, and snapped it together. There was enough blood trapped in my penis to make me feel lightheaded. Corrine finished with Ted a second or two later.

“Good work, ladies,” said Rachel lifting my manhood to inspect the result. She checked the tension and found it satisfactory. “Nice and tight.” A moment later, Ted had passed muster.

“Jean and Tom, you’re in the other room with Marshall and Connie, Ralph and Suzanne,” said Bob consulting a clipboard he’d picked up off a nearby table.

Jean held my hand as we followed the foursome into an identical motel room. Marshall and Ralph were each carrying a clipboard that turned out to be a long list of sex acts we were required to perform along with a rating of our performance.

We stood quietly while our masters undressed. Penis wise the men were average. I was thankful there wasn’t a mega-dicked Kelso among the examiners. Connie had a terrific figure and Suzanne was only a small step down from Connie. The way Connie put one foot on the bed and rubbed her sex after she peeled off her panty made me want to jump her but I was a slave and they don’t jump masters.

Marshall spoke after a quick glance at the clipboard. “Down on your knees, Slaves. We need to test your oral skills.”

Jean and I dropped to our knees by the bed. Marshall and Ralph stepped up surrounding me. Connie and Suzanne took identical positions beside Jean then I felt the bed move and Connie was on her back with her legs lifted and spread.

“Show her how much you like eating black pussy, Jean,” said Suzanne guiding Jean’s face into position.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Jean.

Marshall’s cock was about three inches from my face when he spoke. “Can you guess what’s next, Tom?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said licking my lips to wet them.

Ralph’s cock was almost as close to my mouth as Marshall’s. He interpreted my gesture in his own way. “Tom’s just can’t wait to get our black dicks in that pretty mouth of his.” I had to admit he wasn’t wrong. I’d quietly abandoned the idea Tom Meade was a card carrying hetero.

My ears informed me Jean was eating Connie with a noisy gusto.

“Show me how much you love the taste of my pecker,” said Marshall traveling half the distance to my mouth as I traveled the other half.

“Start slow,” had been Corrine’s advice when she was conducting a blowjob training session designed to get me into the club. She’d found another use for the strapon in addition to fucking my ass.

Morgan’s was the only male cock I’d sucked since high school and then for only a minute or two before it disappeared back in Corrine’s vagina. For reasons not quite clear, I didn’t consider what I did with Morgan cocksucking. I’d simply allowed Corrine and Morgan to stuff his already hard member in my mouth; then I moved my lips up and down the shaft exulting in the taste and smell of her pussy. When it came to Morgan, Corrine was too much of a cock hog to let me enjoy it for long.

But Marshall’s cock was soft and smelled of soap. I reached between his legs gently taking his balls in hand as I applied pressure to their underside with the side of my palm, a technique suggested by my wife who considered my blowjob skills seriously deficient.

As I tackled Marshall’s penis, her directions to take it slow, get acquainted, and flick the mushroom cap with my tongue rang through my head. I teased his piss hole with the tip of my tongue. I’d reached the point where the shaft was firm enough for me to engulf its length pressing my lips into his pubic hair as the head pressed into my throat opening when Marshall announced, “Not bad, Tom, your turn, Ralph.”

Marshall stepped back to make a brief entry on his clipboard. Ralph’s cock was semi-hard when I opened my mouth to take the head inside for a tongue-lashing. I was getting more into it each time my lips traveled back and forth across that warm column of warm male flesh.

“Tom strikes me as a man who has sucked dick before,” said Ralph. I didn’t consider it wise to attribute my skill to my wife’s training rather than experience. I looked at Ralph hoping the lust I was feeling showed on my face. Corrine said one of the best ways to sell a blowjob was to communicate having cock in their mouth was an unbelievable turn on.

“Never met a white boy who wasn’t a dick sucker,” said Marshall. “They’re all part faggot.”

“Tom sucks like he’s all faggot. How are you ladies doing,” asked Ralph?

“I’ve finished. Jean’s a level one cunt lapper. Suzanne is getting her rug munched,” said Connie.

“Let’s see if Tom can handle a skull fucking,” said Ralph. “Open wide, Thomas. Ralph placed his hands on the side of my head taking control of its motion. I was prepared for what he had in mind. I’d watched Jerome’s crew skull fuck my wife and the women they brought.

“It’s a typical guy thing in that they have to be in charge. So they hold your head and fuck your throat. When you choke and drool on your own tits, they think it’s a turn on,” said Corrine my personal sex advisor who had taught me to tilt my head back to open my throat, flatten my tongue, and open my mouth as far as my jaw hinge allowed.

“Excellent,” said Ralph pushing his cock to where it nestled against my throat opening then moving his hips forward an inch or two. For any individual, gag reflexes range from strong to weak. Mine were weak and Corrine had dildo trained my throat to accept foreign objects. Still, I choked a little when the head of his pecker pushed into my gullet. Corrine would have been proud of the way my tongue lapped the underside of his shaft, its tip touching his balls, as he put a solid two inches down the pipe.

“Tom shows real aptitude as a throat fucker,” said Marshall placing his fingers alongside my neck to feel the presence of Ralph’s cock. That called for another notation on the clipboard.

Ralph pulled out to allow Marshall to replace him. His cock was slightly thinner and longer. I managed to work that baby while it was lodged inside my throat.

The oral ended with the two of them standing close beside me so I could lick and suck both cock heads at once. Based on their comments, I had passed that phase of the exam.

“We’re done here,” announced Suzanne. I hope you like your pussy wet, Tom; because Jean has my tap running,”



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