Guilt. Shame. Anxiety. Humiliation. All these feelings—amplified by a poisonous hangover—greeted Karen when she woke up in Brandee’s hotel room bed the next morning.

“Rise and shine, party girl!” Brandee sang. “What a wonderful wingman you were last night! Weren’t those boys yummy?”

Karen rubbed throbbing eyeballs and tried not to recall the previous evening. It began with a wine-soaked dinner. Afterward, they went out…

Oh no. Memories too appalling to be true swarmed the married woman’s brain:

A dark strip club teeming with hung black dancers. Huge cocks drooping heavily from every crotch, bobbing, flopping, flaunting their mouth-watering appeal. Then somehow she was getting a couch dance. His steely muscles, his manly scent, that colossal manhood all combined to overwhelm her morality. Which led to the unforgivable sin: sucking him off! She had knelt down on the dirty floor of a sex club and orally worshiped a complete stranger’s insanely huge hardon.

Worse yet, the black man ejaculated inside Karen’s mouth. And she swallowed it. Yes, that happened. Down her throat. A strange albeit inconceivably gorgeous black man’s DNA was at this moment swimming inside her body.

Karen groaned in physical and mental agony. Her jaw ached. When she remembered why, another spasm of guilt washed over her. Did she really do those things? Please let it be just a dream. 

She wore nothing but a blouse and panties. She tried to sit up, but a headache stopped her. Brandee put a Starbucks coffee on the bedside table and moved around the room, nattering about their “epic” evening.

“It’s like you were ‘dick-matized’ last night, amirite? Like hypnotized, except with a dick?” Brandee laughed. “Well, no shame, girlfriend. I was under the same spell myself!”

“Oh, Brandee, how could you?” Karen moaned. “How could you do this to me?”

Brandee swept aside the curtains, admitting an inferno of light.

“‘To you’? Don’t you mean ‘for you’? In the Uber back to the hotel, you said it was the most awesome night of your life.” Then she stage-whispered: “In fact, think I overheard you tell your dancer you loved him.”

“I was drunk! I wasn’t in a right state of mind! You’re a horrible friend, and you’re ruining my life!”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Probably just the hangover talking. But don’t worry, your BBC BFF has you covered.”

She handed Karen the coffee and some pills.

“That’s Tylenol, Advil, with a Xanax chaser to take the edge off. Down the hatch like a good girl.”

Karen swallowed the medicine, threw herself back on the bed, and covered her face with a pillow. “For the love of God, Brandee, at least close the blinds!”

After she dressed and the coffee and pills took hold, Karen recovered enough to join Brandee for a late breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

Over pancakes and Bloody Marys, Karen confessed everything: her secret enormous dildo purchased behind her husband’s back; her obsession with well-endowed black men (well boys, really); even her poorly concealed envy of Brandee’s single, promiscuous lifestyle.

“I think that’s why I’ve been such a bitch lately at work,” Karen admitted. “I’ve been taking out my sexual frustrations on you. Ever since that good-looking spa kid hit on me, my life has been in turmoil. It’s somehow the greatest thing in the world and the worst, all at the same time.”

“Well, it’s called jungle fever for a reason. It’s transmittable. If exposed, you’ll likely get it. Once a white woman sees what she’s been missing her whole life, it’s almost impossible to go back.”

“Don’t I know it. Before this, I thought my sex life was satisfying.”

“So, does that mean Craig’s not very, uh, gifted down below?” She wiggled her pinkie.

“Well, I used to think he was average, but now I’m not sure. I didn’t have much experience before marriage.”

“So, like, what?” She held apart her thumb and forefinger. “Six inches?”

“More like five and a half. On a good day.”

“Ugh. Can’t say I’m surprised. He always had small-dick energy. That thing wouldn’t be enough for me to cum from penetration alone.”

“No, I never came that way with Craig, or anyone before him, actually."

“So you don’t have orgasms at all?”

“No, I do, but only,” she lowered her voice, “from like him fingering me or me fingering myself while he, you know, plays with my nipples.”

“You realize those are clitoral orgasms, not vaginal ones, right?”

“I do now. I never understood the huge difference. My dildo gives me these deep vaginal O’s, that blow my mind. There’s just no comparison. It’s like I’ve discovered a whole new, higher level of sexual experience.”

“Like I said, hard to go back.”

“Well, that’s the problem, Brandee. I mean, I was having trouble feeling Craig before this. Now I’m probably so stretched out, there’ll be no friction whatsoever, and he’ll just be, you know, lost down there.”

Eyes moistening, Karen shook her head. “So, I can’t keep my husband happy, and on top of that, I’m turning into some kind of size-queen freak. It’s absolutely appalling. On campus, I compulsively check out every boy’s crotch. At night, I’m constantly having sex dreams. All day, I’m perpetually horny. One time, I almost masturbated in the bathroom at work.”

Brandee laughed. “Girl, that’s why office doors have locks!”

“I’m serious, Brandee. I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried talking about this with your husband?”

“Craig? On the contrary, I’m trying to protect him from it. With the career slump he’s having lately, his ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You’d be surprised what some men can handle. There are even those,” she sipped her drink, “who get excited by the idea of having a cheating wife.”

“So I’ve heard. But that’s not Craig. He’s no ‘cuck’ or whatever they’re called.”

“Ever think maybe he is. And he just doesn’t know it yet?”

“Huh?”

Brandee paused. “This is not really public knowledge, and I don’t share it often. But it might help you to hear how my marriage to Dennis ended.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It all started with that no-dick loser not being able to get it up.”

[START FLASHBACK]

BRANDEE’S VOICEOVER: We were in our late 30s, and still no children.

In bed, Dennis on top of Brandee; he rolls off. Both look disappointed.

V.O.: He blamed it on the stress of being a police officer, the long hours, the shift work, blah blah blah…

Dennis adjusts his uniform in the mirror. Skinhead haircut, slim-medium build, mustache, trying to look tougher than he is. A tinpot dictator. He goes to work, leaving Brandee’s voluptuous figure alone in bed. Under the covers, you can tell she’s masturbating.

V.O.: I tried the usual stuff: sexy lingerie, scented oils, special lube. Nothing worked. And of course, Supercop was too macho to ask his doctor for little blue pills.

In bed again, wearing a sexy red-and-black teddy and fishnet stockings, Brandee kneels over Dennis’s lifeless dick, sucking and jerking. She sticks a finger up his ass, but he remains soft as putty.

V.O.: Then I had an idea. I’d search his internet browser! What better way to learn what turns on a man than his jerk-off material, right?

I know, horrible invasion of privacy, but keep in mind, I really wanted a child…Well you’ll never guess what I found…

Lit by a computer screen, Brandee’s face grows scandalized.

V.O.: Interracial. Cuckold. Porn. Tons of it.

Screenshot after screenshot of gigantic black cocks spearing married white pussies in every conceivable sex position; blondes, brunettes, redheads. Young and old, facial expressions distorted with bestial lust, forsaking nuptial vows. Cuckold hubbies endlessly stand by, cocks in hand or locked in chastity cages, sometimes wearing women’s undergarments.

V.O.: Karen, I could not believe it. Dennis doesn't have very enlightened views on blacks. And this was his spank material???

Brandee’s face turns from scandalized to captivated.

V.O.: Well, as you can imagine, those huge black dicks drew me right in. I quickly forgot all about Dennis’s little white thing.

Your gateway drug was a dildo. Mine was my husband’s porn history.

Legs propped on the desk, Brandee frantically diddles herself to interracial videos.

V.O.: I was hooked. It wasn’t long before my tastes moved away from Dennis and white boys in general and fixated on alpha-male black cock. I was on message boards and chat rooms, trading pics with guys, getting to know the women. God, the women! Some dedicate their whole lives to this fetish.

One, Val, was D.O. at sports medicine practice looking to hire a nurse.

Val and Brandee at a job interview. Val is average looking, skinny, small-breasted, mousey brown hair, glasses.

V.O: But what really interested me about the job was her boss, Dr. Dave.

A light-skinned black man, thirty-ish, boyishly handsome, shakes Brandee’s hand. A body-builder physique swells under his lab coat.

V.O.: Well he’s a hardbody; it’s sports medicine, after all, and he wants fit employees as well. So get this: he weighs me and takes my measurements—during the job interview!

Stripped to bra and panties, Brandee steps on a scale. Dr. Dave adjusts the beam weights.

V.O.: I mean, anyone else, that’s a harassment lawsuit. But I gotta admit, it turned me on.

Arms horizontal, he measures her bustline, waist, and hips with seamstress tape. Her eyes glaze, skin flushes, nipples protrude, moisture visible at her crotch. Dr. Dave remains calm.

V.O.: The whole workplace was sexualized like that. The women wore high skirts and low tops, competing for his attention. I think they were banging the clients too, many of whom were professional athletes. They hated me of course, kinda like being the new girl in a harem.

A trio of hot women in a breakroom bitchily ignore Brandee, who sits alone.  

V.O.: But Val was nice.

Val joins Brandee and smiles.

V.O.: She was married, but everyone knew Val was fucking Dave. And despite her not being a Barbie, he treated her best. Other girls came and went, but she was always his favorite.

Val and Dave peer into a medical file. He palms her ass.

V.O.: It was clear Val was grooming me to be the doctor’s next conquest. She’d find excuses to leave us alone together. Talk up his good looks. Send me dick pics, dropping hints they were him.

In a bathroom stall, Brandee masturbates feverishly to a huge black cock pic on her phone.

V.O.: Finally, it happened at a medical conference in Miami.

Under the table at a fancy restaurant, Dave puts a hand up Brandee’s skirt. Val winks approvingly.

Cut to Brandee and Dave frantically tongue kissing in an elevator. Val rubs his crotch.

V.O.: Val basically midwifed the whole thing.

In a hotel room, Val slowly undresses Brandee, who looks vacant, lobotomized by lust. Val lays her on the bed with almost ritualistic care, caressing her skin, gently teasing her oversized nipples, cooing encouragement, as if prepping a human sacrifice for a priapic god.

V.O.: That night I discovered what a real dick can do to a woman.

Naked, kneeling, Val sucks Dave’s monstrous cock to full hardness. Grabbing her hair, he face-fucks her brutally, skewing her glasses, but his eyes stay riveted on Brandee, whose hand lightly dances on her labia.

Close-up of Dave’s dark cock, enormously long and thick, a mighty vein running up its dorsal length, as it moves toward Brandee’s pussy. Val’s slender white hand guides it, rubbing the massive head into the wet folds. It slowly penetrates.

V.O.: Karen, this cock was a life-changer.

Brandee’s blue eyes open wide in surprise, then melt into ecstasy.

Cut to a montage of Dave masterfully fucking her missionary, doggie-style, cowgirl, reserve-cowgirl, her massive tits jiggling. He controls her voluptuous body, using her hair as a leash and occasionally choking her. She has multiple, earth-shattering orgasms, often while gazing up at him with an awe-struck expression.

He pulls out and spackles her jugs with a giant load of thick white cum. Then, remaining hard, re-enters her stretched pussy and continues fucking just as powerfully as before. 

Val plays support, fluffing and tongue cleaning his cock during breaks; licking and fingering Brandee’s pussy.  

Finally, Dave cums a second time deep within the blonde’s married unprotected womb.

Satiated, in a tangle of limbs, the sweaty threesome falls asleep together.

V.O.: For a time, I was his flavor of the month—next to Val of course. If I’m being honest, they were the happiest days of my life.

Montage of Brandee’s infidelities: Slipping into Dave’s office, crawling behind the desk as he drops his pants. In an SUV, riding his cock. Bent over an exam table, taking him from behind. Throughout, she wears tight sweaters and tops, slutty makeup and nails.

V.O.: We never used a condom, and I never even thought to ask. Consequences just didn’t seem to matter anymore. All I could think about was this amazing man and his all-conquering cock. Everything else was secondary.

Truth is, Karen, I was falling in love with him.

Anyway, things took a turn at the office Christmas party. I wasn’t much worried about bringing Dennis along, figuring Dave would keep our fuck-buddy status on the down-low.

A bar decorated for the holidays. Dave drapes an arm around Brandee, who appears nervous. Partygoers exchange knowing looks. Sitting nearby, Dennis seems oblivious, as Dave lightly caresses his wife’s enormous right breast.

V.O.: He was so brazen about it, like he didn’t care at all what my husband thought.

On the dancefloor, Brandee and Dave bump and grind. No longer reserved, Brandee rubs her tits and ass against him provocatively.

V.O.: I hate to admit it, but his assertiveness made me dripping wet. Dave treated me like his girlfriend right in front of my husband, and he just sat there and took it.

Dennis and Brandee drive home in silence. She looks nervous again.

V.O.: I was terrified Dennis might hit me, or worse. But, oh, man, the minute we got in the door he nearly tore off my skirt and started eating my pussy like a man possessed!

Moaning, Brandee reclines on the kitchen counter, legs spread in a V, Dennis’s face buried in her crotch. Ripping open his pants, Dennis’s modest-sized cock is diamond hard.

V.O.: I was so worked up from Dave’s flirting I came like a geyser. It was the first time Dennis and I had had any real sexual contact in months.

We fell into this unspoken ritual: Dave would fuck me and then Dennis would eat me out. But it was weird. We never talked about it, you know? Like I’d just drop hints. I’d mention I had lunch with Dave that afternoon, and I just knew soon hubby would be down there lapping at my cum-filled snatch.

I didn’t confess to cheating on him with a nine-inch BBC, and he didn’t accuse me. But I thought to myself: on some level, he’s got to know, right?

Looking back, it was a kind of fool’s paradise. I convinced myself that my affair with Dave might somehow save our marriage. And that Dennis eating my cream-pies was his way of accepting and forgiving my slutty behavior.

For a while there, I was on top of the world.

On the toilet, Brandee examines a small plastic device.

V.O.: Then I got pregnant.

Don’t look so shocked. After all, I’d started down this road trying to conceive a child, and in some perverted way, I’d attained that goal.

Brandee in Dave’s office, in serious discussion. She’s pleading something, but he shakes his head. Soon she’s crying, and he escorts her gently but firmly to the door.

V.O.: I don’t know what I expected from him. That I’d divorce Dennis, and we’d get married? I don’t know. I mean, I probably would have, if I’m being honest. But I’d have settled for any kind of acknowledgment, a few tender words, at the very least. But no, he wanted nothing to do with me or his unborn child after that.

Brandee on Val’s couch, sobbing uncontrollably, surrounded by wine bottles, used tissues, empty ice cream tubs. Val hugs her.

V.O.: But I took it pretty well.

Dennis and Brandee at the dinner table. Neither speaks. Brandee, wearing no makeup, looks chastised.

V.O.: Thing is, I still wanted to have that child. But I didn’t know how to tell Dennis.

That’s when I started seeing a therapist, Dr. Ruth Mahler. She specializes in unconventional relationships. She’s right in the city, not far from the University. Going to her made me understand that Dennis was a cuckold but couldn’t confront his own sexuality.

In the end, it caused our divorce, of course, but I wouldn’t have had the courage to tell Dennis about the pregnancy without Dr. Mahler’s help. She really opened my eyes to the fundamental weirdness of human sexuality. I think she might be able to help out you and Craig with your problem. I’ll text you her contact info.

KAREN’S VOICEOVER: [Flabbergasted] But Brandee, finish the story! What about the baby? Did you abort it?

B’S V.O.: Oh that. I had a miscarriage. But only after he threw me out of my house, and his lawyer used the affair to deny me alimony or child care. 

K’S V.O.: Jesus, Mary, mother of God.

B’S V.O.: I know. Crazy, right? Don’t wait until it’s too late, Karen. Now let’s go. You’ve got a plane to catch.

[END FLASHBACK]

***

At the airport bar, Karen had another drink. Brandee’s story had shaken her, but not because of the abuse and the lost pregnancy. Karen didn’t fear something similar befalling herself. For all his faults, Craig was not a violent man. He was no racist cop.

Besides that, pregnancy wasn’t a worry because after her last child, Karen had gotten her tubes tied (tubal ligation).

No, what rattled her most was the idea of a husband who kept his cuckold desires secret from his wife. The possibility that Craig might be such a man filled her with pussy-dampening, guilt-inducing hope. Craig’s willing acceptance—or even better yet, encouragement—of her adulterous lusts would be a heaven-sent solution to all her problems.

But could she live with herself in such a nontraditional, female-biased marriage arrangement? Her size-craving libido said yes, but her Catholic upbringing said no.

At that moment, she got a text from Craig, asking for her social security number. Seeing his face on the phone brought her back to reality. Hoping to encourage any latent cuckold tendencies within Craig was foolish.

She realized Brandee was right. Confession was the only way forward. She would admit to cumming with the massage guy, the training room sperm collection incident, the secret dildo, and, yes, even blowing the stripper. Fall to the floor and beg for mercy.

And, in all fairness, lay some blame on Brandee. Clearly, that nymphomaniac had been a catalyst for much of Karen’s cheating.

After her flight home that night, setting her bags down in the foyer, and seeing her daughters rush toward her—Olivia, aged six; and Virginia, aged four—greeting her with the intense love that only children who have gone without their mother for several days can muster, Karen broke down.

Hugging them close, she burst into tears and cried so hard tears dripped on the crayon drawings the children had scrawled to celebrate her homecoming.  

Sensing trouble, Craig took the luggage to their room and quickly shuffled the children off to bed.

“I have a confession to make,” she said when he joined her in their bedroom.

“I think I know what it is,” he replied.

Karen was stunned silent.

Craig entered the walk-in closet and emerged carrying something.

“Does it have something to do with this?” he spat angrily, shaking the enormous black dildo in her face.

She thought: Oh, if only that were the whole story. “Craig, please calm down. Let me talk.”

“I’m tired of being calm, Karen!” For some absurd reason, despite his anger, he had a raging hardon.

“News is probably all over town by now! It’s the big joke at every dinner party. Ha, ha, Craig Naylor can’t satisfy his wife!”

She was confused. “Why would anyone know? You think I want people knowing about this?”

Craig almost spoke but stopped.

Karen sensed he was hiding something. “Craig, what are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“Craig!” she snapped. It was an order.

“Alex may have seen it.”

“Alex? Alex Kinkler? What on earth was the babysitter doing in our bedroom?”

He stammered and turned red-faced. “She, she was, we, paperwork—don’t change the subject!”

Craig never could lie. Karen immediately discerned the truth.

“No, Craig! Not with Alex! We know her parents, for God’s sake!”

Her head spun. She almost passed out. Here she was turning down multiple opportunities to sleep with hot young guys, all while her husband had been shagging the babysitter!

The rage, the guilt, the hangover, the pills, the booze, all coalesced into a white-hot need to hurt this man in front of her.

“In Vegas,” she hissed, “I sucked a male stripper’s dick. It was three times the size of yours. His cock did more for me in my mouth than yours ever did anywhere else in me.”

Now Craig was speechless.

He looked at the rubber sex toy in his hand. “Was the…was he black?”

Their youngest daughter, roused by the yelling, cried from down the hall.

Eyes downcast, Craig tossed the dildo on the bed and went to soothe the child.

Karen slammed the door behind him and locked it; then sat on the bed and cried furious tears.

Eventually, with help from another Xanax Brandee had given her for the trip home, she calmed down. She had to work in the morning and needed to shower and get to bed. She’d be damned if she’d let her career go down the tubes along with her marriage.

When she took off her suit jacket, she noticed the cum stains on her blouse and prayed no one had noticed them during the flight.

Emptying business cards from her suit-jacket pockets, she found another reminder of her wild night. It was Silva Bullet’s elongated silver-lamé jockstrap, which he had given her as a memento, she now recalled.

Holding the long sliver cock sheath in her hand, the look and feel—the tangible physical reality—of that awesome phallus came rushing back to her. This thing really had occurred. It wasn’t a dream. What had happened in Vegas had not, in fact, stayed in Vegas…

In spite of everything, a gut-churning spasm of lust rolled through her body. Exhausted as she was from her trip and the marital quarrel, she nevertheless promised herself a masturbation session after showering.

But then when she undressed completely and saw her naked body in the mirror, she knew she couldn’t wait even that long.

Someone had inked words on her alabaster tits with a black Sharpie pen. Across one smallish boob was written: “Property of Silva Bullet.” Across the other: “Married White Bitch,” with a spade symbol next to it. She had no memory of how the writing got there.

Viewing the markings hit her libido like a sledgehammer. Her right hand flew to her clit, frigging furiously. The white mom almost came right there. But she delayed it, knowing how to intensify the moment.

She hopped on the bed with the dildo and the jockstrap. Holding the pheromone-soaked material up to her face, she inhaled deeply, savoring the ruttish scent. Then she worked the huge cock into her sopping wet cunt.

“Oh, God, yes, give it to me you fucking stud, give me that big black cock.” she hissed. “Fuck me good. Make me your married white bitch!”

The phrase married white bitch reverberated in her mind, inflaming her passion, while the primordial scent of African man meat saturated her olfactory senses.

This potent combination, plus the tranquilizers’ muscle-relaxing effects, caused her pussy to open wider and surrender fresh territory to the invading dildo. Extreme horniness allowed for deeper penetration than ever before.

Teeth clenched, neck muscles straining, she packed in another inch. Filled to the brim, her hungry pussy somehow still craved more length. Finally, with a sharp twinge of pain, the flared mushroom head bumped into her cervix.

Exhaling suddenly, she withdrew a few inches and caught her breath. Lust-crazed though she was, she worried she couldn’t go on.

But then she pictured the hurt-little-boy look on Craig’s face when she told him about blowing the stripper’s superior cock. The image was so erotic it inspired her to throw back her head, open her mouth in a silent scream, and plunge in the phallus up to the balls.

That’s when some internal mechanism activated, a process she’d never experienced. She could feel her cervix retract, creating an expanded space inside the womb, which the final inches of the giant black intruder quickly occupied.

She held the fake cock there motionless, precariously poised between ecstasy and fear. Trembling, looking down at her midriff, she guessed the head must be lodged all the way up behind her navel. But she felt no pain; only an overfilled satisfaction, a primitive itch she never knew existed being scratched at last.

After a tense few moments, she dared to move the shaft ever so slightly, just shimmying it a tiny fraction back and forth.

That was all it took. Her eyes rolled back in her head and every muscle convulsed as in a grand mal epileptic seizure. An electric current of bliss scorched through every synapse in her central nervous system. This was a full-body orgasm with no point of origin or terminus, hitting everywhere at once with equal force—her limbs, her skin, her brain. Even her bones seemed somehow to vibrate with it.  

As the rapturous spasms subsided and the muscle quivering slowed, the exhausted wife lost all power of movement. All she could do was lie there immobile, pinned like a butterfly by the giant brown lance, inwardly gawking in astonishment at having discovered yet another level of carnal satisfaction. It appeared the cervix expansion caused by the extra-long cock had sparked a delicious new category of vaginal orgasm.

Was there no limit to the delights in the palatial mansion of human sexuality? She seemed to keep finding secret doors and stairwells, ascending from one spectacular room to the next.

And why did the phrase married white bitch trigger her so? Such degrading words would have offended her a few months ago. Now they just sounded like a playful pet name. She even took warped pride in having earned the moniker.

But the phrase also had another ego-stroking meaning for Karen: that wives held an advantage over women like Brandee. Many black men preferred married, straight-edged, soccer-mom types to slutty single women. To seduce and conquer an upper-class married woman was a psycho-social erotic drama that made for incredibly hot sex not only for black men but white women too. It brought together strangers from two totally different cultures. It transcended the limits of physical beauty, as in the case of Dr. Dave’s loyalty to Val.

She carefully withdrew the dildo, leaving her empty pussy hole feeling as roomy as the Lincoln Tunnel.

For the first time since her interracial obsession began, she suffered no post-orgasm guilt. If there was a silver lining to the cloud of Craig’s adultery, that was it: She no longer had to be as ashamed of her own extramarital passion.  

She brought the chocolate dildo to eye level. “I missed you so much while I was gone, Mr. XL. Let’s never be apart again.”

Then she snuggled up with the cock between her graffiti-marred tits, turned on her side, and fell into a deep drugged sleep.