Story 2: Intensive Care

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Story progress updates (Story 1: Black Itch Cures White Bitch)

 About to leave on vacation until mid-June, but I thought I'd update everyone on story progress. All are unfinished and haven't received a final edit or read through. I currently have three projects near completion. 

Not too happy with the title. There's another story out there called, White Bitch Does Black Switch, though that would fit this story. I'm not against using it, there's another story called, Fuck Weed on the mind control archives. I'm open to suggestions. 

Black Itch Cures White Bitch

Copyright 2025 by Stormbringer

John Miller hunched over his whiskey at the sports bar, the chaos of Friday night a dull roar in his ears. The neon signs—Budweiser, Coors—cast a crimson glow across his tense face, deepening the lines carved by years of outdoor work. The air hung heavy with the stench of stale beer, sweat, and the electric buzz of anticipation as the flat-screen TVs blared pre-fight hype for the boxing match. Jack “The Hammer” Callahan, a white bruiser with a 22-0 record, flexed his chiseled frame, his pale skin glistening under the ring lights. Tyrone Jackson, a massively muscled black newcomer, got a passing nod from the commentators, his hungry eyes ignored. John was looking forward to the fight. He could have watched it at home, but there was something about the atmosphere of a sport’s bar that drew him out even if he was drinking alone. Truthfully, there were several tables of friends and coworkers he could have joined, but tonight he preferred to drink alone. 

An hour ago, he’d popped an ED pill, its bitter aftertaste still clinging to the back of his tongue like a bad memory. Tonight was supposed to be special. Tomorrow was his and Sarah’s seven-year anniversary and they’d finally decided they were financially secure enough to start a family. She was out with friends, hopefully home just after midnight. They’d start their anniversary right, no condom, just raw, primal sex like he’d always wanted. They were trying for a baby, a milestone that would start the next phase of their lives. Tonight was supposed to be special, but his anxiety was consuming him. He needed to prove he could still perform. He’d never felt his five inches were adequate. He’d never given Sarah and orgasm or either of his two previous girlfriends for that matter. His penis was never rock hard, but his real problem was stamina, sometimes cumming in the condom just as he was sliding the head inside his wife. He hoped the pill would help with that, just last long enough he could get it inside and plant his seed in her. Luckily, he was Sarah’s only lover and she didn’t know any better. She probably could have gone without sex entirely and when she was younger, she’d considered becoming a nun. A nun built like a stripper, but a nun nonetheless. That was part of the problem. He couldn’t handle her body. It made his penis want to explode just looking at her. They had to have sex in the dark and even then, he was lucky to get five strokes in.

He glanced at his watch—10 p.m. Sarah was out with her girlfriends, probably sipping wine, her uptight shell cracking under the alcohol’s spell. Booze always loosened her, made her less of the prim, church-going wife. Tonight, they’d fuck without protection for the first time, and he’d show her he could be the man she needed. The thought sent a jolt through him, but it was tainted by fear—fear of failing her again. John secretly popped a second pill into his mouth, chasing it down with the whiskey.

The bar’s door slammed open, and Marcus and Tyrone swaggered in, their presence slicing through the crowd like a switchblade. Marcus, 6’4” and built like a goddamn tank, his dark black skin gleaming under the neon lights, radiated raw menace. His flat nose and broad lips framed a cocky grin that made John’s stomach twist, a grin that said he owned every room he walked into. Tyrone, 6’1” and leaner but no less imposing, his dark brown skin taut over rippling muscles, moved with the easy grace of a predator. Both reeked of pot and cheap beer, their clothes—a mix of faded tees and worn jeans—stretched tight over their frames. They were John’s construction crew, insubordinate pricks who slacked on the job and mouthed off daily, but with the labor shortage strangling the warehouse, he couldn’t fire them. He was stuck, their arrogance a constant thorn in his side.

Marcus slid onto the stool beside John, his bulk pinning him against the bar, the wooden edge digging into his ribs. “S’up, John,” he boomed, smacking his shoulder hard enough to spill whiskey over the rim of the glass. “You here for the fight?”

John forced a tight grin, wiping the spill with his sleeve, the damp fabric sticking to his skin. “Just waitin’ on Callahan to smash Jackson. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Bullshit. Ain’t know white man can keep up with a black man,” said Tyrone.

John stared at him. “Callahan’s undefeated!”

“So what?” said Tyrone.

Marcus chuckled. “Always bet on black.”

“Fifty bucks says Callahan wins,” said John.

“You’re on,” said Tyrone.

John was feeling cocky. “And with the odds in my favor, I’ll give each of you fifty if Jackson wins and you two only have to give me fifty.”

“It’s a bet,” said Marcus with a shrug.

John took another sip. “But if I win you two have to show up to work on time for the next to weeks.”

“Let’s keep it realistic,” said Tyrone laughing.

Marcus leaned with his back to the bar, his eyes scanning the bar—mostly white women in tight skirts and low-cut tops, giggling over margaritas with their husbands and boyfriends. Where John and Sarah came from, a small town where everyone looked like them, interracial hookups were unheard of, whispered about like scandals. But Marcus and Tyrone seemed to pull it off with ease, their charm—or maybe their audacity—drawing women like moths to a flame. John couldn’t understand it, they were big men, but not particularly attractive and Marcus was downright ugly.

For the next fifteen minutes, John sat and listened to the two black men commenting on every woman in the bar. “The redhead with her man over there keeps checking you out, Mar,” said Tyrone.

“Already fucked her. I was hoping for some fresh P, but if the place doesn’t pick up, might have to go steal her from her white boy.”

John rolled his eyes. He knew the redhead, married ten years, went to church with Sarah, Marcus was full of shit, but she was flashing eyes at Marcus.

Tyrone threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that turned heads. His eyes locked on a curvy blonde by the jukebox, her ass swaying to some twangy country tune, her skirt riding up her thighs. She danced her way back to a man wearing a cowboy hat. “O’Malley’s ain’t the best place for finding pussy,” he complained. “Mostly a sausage party, but that blonde’s got a fine ass. Speakin’ of fine asses, where’s that hot wife of yours?”

John’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. “She’s out with friends until midnight. We’ve got a romantic evening planned for later. It’s our anniversary tomorrow.”

“Boss man gonna get laid tonight,” said Tyrone.

“Good for you, boss man,” added Marcus. “Happy anniversary.” He turned around as the boxers were entering the ring.

The TV flickered, static shredding the screen before cutting to black. All the TVs went out. The bar erupted in groans, glasses clinking in frustration. “Fuckin’ cable,” Marcus growled, slamming his beer bottle down, the glass wobbling on the sticky counter as foam poured out of the top. 

“John, you been bragging about that big 50-inch at home, right?” Tyrone leaned in.

John’s gut twisted, a cold knot forming. Sarah did not care for black people and she especially didn’t like Tyrone. She didn’t know Marcus, but had freaked when John told her they’d hired an ex-con. “Sorry guys, Sarah’ll lose her shit if you’re there. Plus, I just told you, we got plans for later?”

Tyrone grinned, all teeth, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Relax, boss. The fight ain’t gonna last that long. We won’t cock block you.”

“Yeah,” added Marcus. “Just long enough to win the bet. I ain’t given up getting some pussy tonight. I need to bust a nut something bad.”

John’s cheeks flamed, his pride bleeding out under their taunts. He’d never known men that talked like this. The whiskey and desire to win the bet dulled his resolve. “Just until the fights over,” he muttered, hoping it wouldn’t go on too many rounds, but it never did with Callahan. “Then you two have to split.”

**********

John’s beat-up Ford pickup rattled through the quiet suburban streets, the white picket fence outside his house glowing faintly under the headlights—a fragile barrier guarding the life he’d built with Sarah. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his mind racing. If Sarah came home to find Marcus and Tyrone sprawled in their living room, she’d erupt, her bitchy streak a force of nature that could shred him to pieces. Her temper was legendary, her tongue sharp enough to draw blood when she was crossed. Only her looks made her attitude tolerable. He glanced in the rearview mirror, Marcus’s black Charger tailing close, its bass thumping like a heartbeat through the night so loud it was rattling John’s windows. “Black folk,” he muttered shaking his head.

In the Charger, Marcus gripped the wheel, his thick fingers flexing, his mind on pussy—or the lack of it. “Bar was a fuckin’ desert,” he bitched, adjusting his bulge, the denim straining to contain his monster cock. “Five years in the pen, and I’m still huntin’ tail that ain’t there. Balls are achin’, bro.”

Tyrone sprawled in the passenger seat, his long legs stretched out, a lazy grin on his face. “How much pussy you need to make up for them five years?”

“All of it,” Marcus shot back, his voice rough. “I’m gonna take as much of the white man’s pussy as I can to make up for lost time.” He blamed society for putting him away, white cops, white judge, didn’t matter that he’d robbed a liquor store.

Tyrone opened the glove compartment and flashed a VHS tape—Black Cocks, White Sluts—its cover worn from use. “Here’s that tape I told you about.”

“Thanks. It’s lookin more and more like me and my hand got a date tonight with a grainy old video tape.”

Tyrone snorted, scratching his jaw. “Fight will be quick. Then we’ll ditch and hunt real pussy.” “Speakin’ of,” added Tyrone, squeezing his cock through his jeans, the outline clear even in the dim light, a thick tubular lump running down one leg, “John’s wife—Sarah? Bitchy as hell, but stacked—tits like melons, ass you could bounce a quarter off, legs for days. Saw her at the company Christmas party last year. Bitch wouldn’t kiss me under my mistletoe hat. Didn’t even find it funny. Heard her givin’ John shit about it later. She wanted him to fire me. Gorgeous blue-eyed and blonde like you like them.”

Marcus’s eyes glinted, his interest piqued. “She that hot?”

“Yeah, but wound tight,” Tyrone replied, his grin widening. “White boy ain’t hittin’ it right—little white dick don’t cut it for a woman like that. She needs dark meat to loosen her up.”

Marcus laughed, deep and throaty, the sound filling the car. “Bet she’d shit herself seein’ a real man’s cock.”

Tyrone nodded, his mind already fantasizing about John’s wife, his cock twitching at the thought of Sarah’s curves under his hands, but knowing she unattainable.

**********

John’s house stood as a shrine to suburban wholesomeness—white siding gleaming under the moonlight, the lawn manicured to perfection, a cross-stitched “Home Sweet Home” pillow perched on the plush beige couch. The living room was a snapshot of Sarah’s meticulous care: a polished oak coffee table held an old Bible, its cracked leather cover worn from generations of use. Inside, faded ink traced the genealogy of Sarah’s family going back generations—births, marriages, deaths, her own entry scrawled thirty-two years ago in looping cursive. When they had children, their names would join the sacred list, a tradition Sarah clung to like a lifeline, her faith woven into every page. The air carried the faint scent of lavender from a candle she’d lit that morning.

“Beats our dump,” said Tyrone, taking a seat on the couch while John got them three beers out of the fridge.

Marcus paused at the photos on the mantel, their wedding picture, Sarah lovely in a sleeveless white gown, a couples portrait, two stern looking parents and a younger Sarah. His eyes locked on one in particular: Sarah in a red bikini on their honeymoon, standing on a sun-drenched beach. Her 5’4” frame was a masterpiece of curves and contrasts—EE-cup breasts strained the bikini top, their heavy, natural fullness spilling over the edges, the fabric barely containing their weight. Her narrow waist flared to wide, curvy hips, her round ass barely covered by the thong bottom, the cheeks firm and high. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the sunlight, framing a heart-shaped face with piercing blue eyes that smoldered despite her forced smile unhappy having her picture taken in such a scandalous bikini. Her toned legs, smooth and shapely, stretched down to delicate feet, toes curled in the sand. Her flat stomach, sculpted from hours of yoga, glistened with a sheen of sweat, her creamy porcelain skin flushed pink under the tropical sun. Marcus’s cock twitched in his jeans, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Goddamn, John,” he said, his voice thick with lust, “you bagged a fuckin’ porn star. This ass? Perfect. Tits like that? Shit, man, she’s built for fuckin’.”

John squirmed, the whiskey making his tongue sluggish as he handed Marcus a beer can. “Knock it off, Marcus,” he muttered, his voice tight, but the words lacked bite. His eyes flicked to the photo, a pang of jealousy mixing with the pill-fueled arousal stirring in his groin. Sarah was his, but Marcus’s leer made him feel small, inadequate, like a boy playing at being a man. “She’d kill me if she knew you were staring at that picture.”

“Doesn’t like black men?” he asked, still staring, her bikini clad image reflecting in his dark pupils. 

“Yeah, well no, I mean, men in general. Well, she doesn’t like anyone in her home. This is our private sanctuary.”

Tyrone flicked on the 50-inch TV, the screen flaring to life with ESPN reporting the fight’s conclusion—Jackson’s fist had smashed Callahan’s jaw in round one, dropping him like a sack of bricks. Marcus and Tyrone whooped, their fists pounding the air, their laughter filling the room. “Black power, baby!” Tyrone grinned, his teeth flashing. “White boys can’t measure up—on the mat or in the sack. Pay up, boss.”

John bristled, staring at the TV in disbelief. Callahan was staring off into space swaying on his feet while a couple men were splashing water on his face and slapping his cheek. The fight was over twenty minutes ago and Callahan was still dazed. He fished a crumpled fifty from his wallet and tossed it onto the coffee table, the bill landing beside the Bible. “Well damn, guess you two can get going then.” He checked the twelve apostles wall clock. It was ticking on Simon the Zealot, 11:00pm. An hour to go until midnight, Judas Iscariot. John could be naked and in bed by the time Sarah got home for their first baby-making session.

Tyrone snatched up the fifty, his grin wicked. 

“Where’s mine?” asked Marcus, looming over John.

Damn, Marcus was big, thought John feeling threatened as he looked up at the giant. “I’ll bring it to work on Monday. Wasn’t planning on losing a hundred bucks tonight.” He stepped away from the hulking black brute and opened his door for the two men.

“Hold up, man, let us finish our beers,” said Tyrone, slipping the bill into his pocket. Got somethin’ else we can watch.” He bolted to the Charger. 

John stepped outside, suddenly smelling dope. Marcus stepped beside him, lighting a joint. “Put that shit out, Sarah’s got a nose like a bloodhound.” 

Marcus just inhaled and stared at him like he was a gnat he could swat away.

Tyrone slipped the Black Cocks, White Sluts sleeve off the cassette. The title sticker was marked out when he’d hid it from his parent years ago. He returned with the tape in hand. “Lighten up, boss. Take a hit, you wear the pants in the family.”

“Does he?” asked the brute, handing John the joint.

John felt goaded, but he took a hit just to show Marcus he was the man of the house and could make his own decisions. He couched, holding it in. He hadn’t smoked pot in fifteen years and it hit him hard. “What’s that?”

Tyrone help up the cassette. “An action flick we can watch.” He took the joint from John and took a hit.

“But Sarah?” said John.

“Just until we finish our beers, then we’re gone,” replied Tyrone. He passed the joint towards Marcus. The black man grinned, his teeth reflecting white in the streetlight. He passed, nodding towards John. 

Tyrone grinned back, skipping Marcus and handing John the joint. The man of the house took a deep hit. “Finish it, boss.” John hesitated, but took a drag—then another, deeper, at their insistence, the heat burning his fingers. The world tilted fast, his head swimming, limbs heavy as lead. His thoughts blurred. He stood silently, swaying slightly, as out of it as Callahan had been after getting knocked out.

They stumbled back inside, Tyrone slotting the tape into John’s VCR/DVD combo machine. John collapsed in his recliner staring at the TV while the black men sat on the couch. He was with it enough to check the time. 11:20, forty minutes until Judas. 

The screen flared to life, grainy and flickering—a blonde, Sarah’s spitting image, stepped from a shower, water beading on her obviously fake EE tits. She dried her buxom figure off and slowly began rubbing oil into her breasts and belly. John’s dick swelled, the ED meds kicking in. “What’s this?” he slurred. “You said it was an action movie.”

“Wait until you see the action, boss,” replied Tyrone.

Her doorbell rang. She wrapped a towel around her body and answered the door. Two black studs burst in, hawking “marital aids” with exaggerated grins. They were pushing a large foot-long black dildo. She told them she might be interested in a realistic one, six inches like her husband’s. “These realistic enough for you,” they said. Their pants hit the floor—12-inch and 11-inch cocks sprang free, thick, veined, and pulsing. John’s blurry eyes widened, convinced the pot was playing tricks on him. She sank to her knees, sucking one while jerking the other, her moans filling the room, the wet sounds of her mouth obscene. John’s penis was rock hard, trying to break out of his pants.

Marcus leaned back on the couch, his legs spread wide, smirking. “Check that white pussy takin’ black cock. She’s lovin’ every inch.”

Tyrone nodded, his eyes locked on the screen, his favorite movie from his childhood years. “Big black cocks stretchin’ her wide. Told ya white boys don’t measure up.”

John stared, mesmerized, his cock throbbing under the pills’ spell. Shame burned in his chest, but he couldn’t look away, the blonde’s face blurring into Sarah’s, her moans echoing in his skull.

The clock ticked closer to midnight.

**********

The blonde kneeled, smiling up at the men, tongue out while they jerked off their black cocks, voluminous cum landing on her tongue and splattering her face. 

The next scene started, another blonde, huge tits, white blouse, black skirt was supervising detention. Two, obviously adult black men were in student chairs. She’d caught them fucking cheerleaders in the lockers. They asked if she liked what she saw. Soon they were rubbing their teacher’s legs as she sat on her desk. She kneeled, jerking off two-foot-long dark black cocks.

“Best movie ever,” said Tyrone. He turned his head noticing headlights in the drive. Sarah’s friend was dropping her off. The car backed up and drove off. He elbowed Marcus, looking forward to the bitchy wife giving their boss hell. The entertainment had arrived.

Sarah stumbled through the front door at midnight, her tight skirt clinging to her hips like a second skin, her blouse stretched taut over her curves, dressed sexier than she preferred, but her friends encouraged her to flaunt it. Drunk, her long blonde hair a wild halo around her heart-shaped face, her blue eyes glassy from too much wine, she froze in the doorway, eyes ablaze with rage. It was difficult for a woman so beautiful to look unattractive, but the scowl on her face somehow managed it. “JOHN!” she screamed. Her husband jumped in the chair. He’d been so engrossed in the movie; he hadn’t heard her arrive. The acrid stench of pot hit her first, curling into her nostrils, followed by the sight of the tow black men sprawled on her couch, their bulk dwarfing the delicate furniture. The TV blared porn, the blonde’s moans a knife to her senses. Her eyes flashed to the TV screen, eyebrows raising in shock and horror before darting back to the black men. She recognized the lazy black Tyrone, but he was almost invisible behind a huge giant of a man that could have been a black-skinned version of the Philistine, Goliath. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped, her voice sharp despite the drunken slur, her hands planting on her hips. “Why does it smell like a drug den in my house? And why are these nig… men here, in my home?”

John, stoned and sluggish, fumbled to his feet, his tongue thick in his mouth. “Sarah, I—we were just watching the fight, I—” His legs gave out and he fell back in the chair.

Her gaze snapped to the screen, where a blonde rode a black stud, her pussy gaping around his massive cock, the wet sounds of penetration filling the room. “PORN! My god John, what were you think…” Sarah’s tirade choked off, her jaw dropping, her blue eyes widening in shock. A second black man had appeared, a massive black penis sticking out from his crotch. To Sarah’s horror, the blonde, a white woman, wrapped her lips around the man’s penis, sucking it while still riding another black man the base of his penis appearing as thick as her wrist. Their things are so big, she thought, her pastor’s warnings—pornography corrupts the righteous, leads good Christians to ruin—drowned by a surge of heat between her legs that betrayed her faith. Her nipples stiffened, pressing against the sheer fabric of her bra, a flush creeping up her neck. She wanted to scream, to throw them out, but her body rooted her to the spot, her thighs pressing together instinctively. She was aware of pornography, but had never seen such filth and her eyes were frozen on the screen, her breathing slowly increasing.

“Like what you see, Sarah?” asked Tyrone, noticing the change in her. “You ever seen a big black cock before? Look how it fills that white pussy. That blondes never been fucked so good.”

“Stop talking filth in my home, Tyrone!” she muttered, no longer yelling, her voice trembling as she glared at Marcus and Tyrone. “Black… whatever, white… it’s disgusting! This is a Christian home!”

Marcus chuckled, undeterred, his eyes raking over her body. “Just callin’ it like it is, bitch. Look at that white slut take it—lovin’ every black inch.”

“What did you just call me?” Her voice rising again. “Who are you?”

“This my boy, Marcus,” answered Tyrone. 

Sarah’s jaw fell open and she staggered backward. “THE CRIMINAL!” She turned her attention back on her husband. “JOHN!” He’d shrunken into his chair, trying to disappear in it. Her eyes fell back on the TV behind John. Again, she froze in shock. The black man was jerking off a foot long penis ejaculating his seed across the white woman’s face and breasts. She laid down, the second black man kneeling between her legs, jerking off a cock slightly smaller, but immensely thick. Semen blasted out of it, plastering the woman’s breasts, belly, and matting her blonde pubic hair. “So… disgusting,” she muttered, again frozen in place. 

Tyrone stood. She didn’t resist when he grabbed her shoulders, the first time she’d ever been touched by a black man. He led her backward, sitting her down between him and Marcus on the couch. John frowned, seeing Sarah sandwiched between two black men was something he wouldn’t have believed possible.

“Take a load off, Sarah. Let’s watch the next scene. It’s one of my favorites.” Tyrone’s hand started rubbing her back, a casual touch that sent a jolt through her. Marcus placed one dark black hand over her bare knee, squeezing it.” She reached down and pulled his hand away just as Tyrone pulled up the back of her blouse, his hand slipping inside rubbing her bare back. She reached behind her to stop him, but he grabbed her wrist. “Keep watching, Sarah,” he ordered. 

The screen showed another blonde, laying spread eagled on a bed. Her wrists tied; her eyes blindfolded. “This is kinky, honey,” she said, squirming, pulling on her bound wrists. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

A naked white man opened the door and let two black men in the room. They were nude, two more huge cocks hard and ready aimed at the blindfolded blonde. One of the men looked like an actor in the last scene. The white man sat down in a chair stroking a penis, slightly bigger than John’s while a black man crawled between the woman’s legs and started licking the woman’s vagina. Sarah gasped loudly. “Look at those big black cocks, Sarah,” whispered Tyrone. “The blonde slut doesn’t know what she’s in for.”

“So big,” she whispered. Marcus put his hand back on her knees. She grabbed his wrist, trying to remove it, but he kept it there and she gave up. 

“How big is John, huh? Tell us.” Tyrone’s fingers slid under her bra strap, arching, his nails scratching her back. He stopped at the small of her back, gently massaging it. She fought off a moan. His hand felt good. Marcus slid his hand up and down her thigh squeezing tightly. It felt kind of good, also. “How big?’ he asked again.

Sarah flushed, her cheeks burning, but the wine loosened her tongue. “Six inches, maybe five, I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Her eyes watching the black men feed his giant penis into the blonde woman. She seemed confused, struggling, calling for her husband, slowly raising her hips into the black man’s cock. “I don’t know who you are, but fuck me Mr. Big Cock,” she squealed. The second black man came around and kneeled by her head bending his mighty shaft down and turning her head. She began sucking his huge penis.

Marcus snorted, leaning closer, his breath hot on her ear, his hand sliding further up her thigh, the sensation sharp and unwelcome. “Five inches ain’t so bad for a white boy. How big is it hard?”

She tore her eyes from the screen long enough to stare at her husband. He was squeezing an obviously erect penis through his pants. She gave him a disgusting sneer, turning her eyes back on the TV. “Five inches erect,” she muttered, staring at the blonde woman, now on all fours, no longer blindfolded. The black man was rapidly taking her with his entire penis, pushing her mouth down the other black man’s penis while he kneeled in front of her.

Sarah swatted Marcus’ hand as it was getting dangerously close to her arousal soaking her panties. Undeterred, he moved his hand to her breasts, squeezing and kneading it, her resistance feeble, her eyes flicking from his hand to the screen despite herself. The blonde’s moans were relentless, her body twisting in pleasure. “It’s manipulated,” Sarah said, her voice unsteady, clinging to denial. “Some kind of trick, CGI. They’re too big to be real.”

Tyrone was still holding her wrist. He moved her hand down to his lap. “That feel real to you?” 

Sarah gasped, resisting the urge to squeeze the bulge beneath his jeans, but she could feel the growing pressure, the heat coming off it. He released her wrist, her hand slowly sliding down the length before she jerked her hand away.

“Still don’t believe it, Sarah?” he asked. 

“I don’t,” she said, struggling and using both hands to pull Marcus’ hand off her breast.

“Mines as big as the actor she’s blowing. Marcus’ is even bigger.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Wanna bet?” Tyrone stood, his movements slow and deliberate, his fingers unbuttoning his jeans. “If I’m as big as I say, you strip off that blouse and skirt,” he said, his voice a low challenge.

Sarah scoffed, the alcohol making her reckless, her blue eyes flashing with defiance. “Fine,” she said, her chin lifting. “If it isn’t, you’re out of my house.” She looked smug. “And you quit your job,” she added. 

Tyrone unbuttoned his pants, watching her eyes follow the downward movement of his zipper. They widened slightly when his bulging white underwear appeared, his cock already swelling and trying to push up through the hem. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat when he pulled his underwear out and down. His 10-inch penis, thick and uncut, pulsed in the air, the dark brown skin glistening under the living room lights. The thing was hideous, reminding her of a bloated sea cucumber she’s seen snorkeling on her honeymoon. The head was partially covered by a black wrinkly fold of skin, the tip of his glans peeking out through it, so different from John’s thin five-inch penis. Tyrone was twice as long as John and nearly four times as thick. “Lord above,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and a forbidden curiosity. Marcus leaned in, unbuttoning her blouse while her attention was on Tyrone’s penis. Her eyes widened as he grabbed beneath the crown and pulled the foreskin back, the plum-sized head of his penis emerging and suddenly it didn’t look so ugly. The urethra was long and dripping pre cum. She wiggled her shoulders letting Marcus slide her blouse off. 

“You try,” urged Tyrone, releasing the hideous black monstrosity. It bobbed before her eyes.

Sarah reached out, shuddering as she touched it, grabbing the thick part beneath the head. Her fingertips didn’t even touch it was so girthy. She’d only touched John to guide him inside her, but this was something unimaginably different. 

She jumped, confused. Marcus was kneeling between her legs, pulling on the hem of her skirt. She didn’t fight it, raising her hips to help him pull her skirt off.  

He threw her skirt aside, removing her heels first tossing them under the coffee table, leaving her clad in a lacy black bra and matching panties, an anniversary surprise for her husband. Her EE breasts strained the bra, their full, natural curves spilling over the edges, the sheer fabric revealing pink nipples already hardening. Her wide hips flared from a narrow waist, her round ass firm and high, the panties cutting high to expose her creamy thighs. Her flat, toned stomach led to a shaved blonde landing strip peeking through the lace, her long, shapely legs trembling slightly, her delicate feet bare on the carpet. John gaped, his stoned haze thickening, his cock throbbing despite the betrayal unfolding before him. He unbuckled his pants.

Tyrone stared down at Sarah’s hand gliding along his shaft. She raised it slightly, jaw dropping when she saw the size of the testicles dangling beneath. “Marcus is even bigger,” he said.

“Bigger?” 

“Another two inches at least.” 

“Impossi…” she froze, her brain suddenly comprehending that the huge black man probably did has a foot long penis.”

“You remove the underwear if I’m right?”

Sarah nodded, looking over at Marcus. Her hand seemed reluctant to release Tyrone’s penis, but she willed herself to let go. Her attention turned; Tyrone pulled his shirt off over his head and started pushing his pants down.

Marcus rose, unbuckling his belt with a slow, deliberate motion. “My turn,” he said, his voice a growl. His jeans fell, revealing a 12-inch cock, darker, veined, and circumcised, the head a deep purple, pulsing with raw power. It was rock hard, had been for a while. Sarah’s breath hitched, a soft “Mercy…” escaping her lips, her eyes locked on the monstrous shaft, so much larger than anything she’d imagined. It was actually magnificent; a perfect purple black shaft compared to the bloated ugliness of Tyrone’s hooded penis. He stepped closer and she reached out for it, shuddering again when her fingers made contact. 

Tyrone unhooked her bra, her EE tits spilling free, firm and heavy, their pink nipples already sticking out. The tip of his penis grazed the pale flesh of her breast as he pulled her bra off. It left a slimy trail on her. Marcus leaned in, her hand slowly stroking his shaft, yanking her panties down, baring her landing strip, her pussy glistening with arousal, the lips swollen and pink. “Look at this tight white pussy,” he growled, sliding a thick finger along her slit, the touch sending a shiver through her. She was soaked, her body betraying her faith, her thighs trembling as she stood exposed. The contact made her stroke his penis faster.

He stood, sniffing his wet finger once before reaching down and pulling the T-shirt over his head. Marcus’s prison-honed bulk, his dark black skin scarred from years inside, every muscle carved like stone. He stepped back, her hand sliding up his shaft until she let go. He bent pushing down his pants. “So big,” Sarah murmured, her eyes tracing Marcus’s biceps, his broad chest, his abs like a washboard. “I’ve never seen so many muscles.”

“Five years liftin’ in the pen,” Marcus grinned, flexing, his cock trust out like a battering ram.

Tyrone stepped closer. Tyrone’s lean, rippling muscles, his dark brown skin taut and smooth. Marcus stepped next to him, their huge penis bobbing hypnotically a foot from her face.

“Why are they different?” Sarah’s hands trembled as she reached out, her fingers brushing Tyrone’s cock first, pausing at the foreskin. “What is this?” she asked, her voice soft, almost childlike, as she gently pulled it back, revealing the glistening head, the texture foreign and fascinating.

“Uncut,” Tyrone said, his voice low. “More cock for you, Sarah. Feel it.”

“Unclean,” she hissed. The uncircumcised male has broken the covenant with god. She pulled back, but kept her left hand on his shaft, pulling his foreskin up to cover the glans before pulling it down, watching the plum-sized head emerged.

“Why don’t you compare us?” asked Marcus. 

She raised her right hand grabbing the longer shaft. She stroked him, her fingers tracing the thick veins, the skin darker than anything she’d touched, not as bloated as Tyrone, but still so thick her fingers didn’t touch. “You’re just like the men in the movie,” she gasped, her eyes flickering from fat brown shaft to the darker black one. How big?” she mumbled, stunned, her blue eyes wide.

“Ten inches,” Tyrone said, nodding to his own. 

“Just over a foot long.” Marcus said, smugly, his broad nostril flaring.

“So much bigger than John’s,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, her hands stroking both, marveling at their girth, the dark skin, the massive balls hanging low and full—nothing like John’s skinny white penis. “Why are your penises so big?” she asked, her mind reeling.

“They ain’t penises,” growled Marcus. “Their cocks.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Cocks,” Tyrone added, “Are bigger, blacker—made for fuckin’.”

Sarah gasped at their language. Made for fuckin’. Her vagina was quivering at the sight of these monster… cocks. Ezekiel 23:20 “She lusted after her lovers, whose members were like those of donkeys and whose issue was like that of horses.” About the lust for foreign men.

Marcus and Tyrone closed in, leaning over her, their presence overwhelming, their hands claiming Sarah’s trembling body with a confidence that made her heart race. She released their shafts, her hands on their chests trying to push them away. Marcus’s lips scorched her neck, his breath hot and rough, his teeth grazing her creamy skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine. Each nip was deliberate, a spark igniting her nerves, her body betraying her with a flush that spread from her cheeks to her chest. Tyrone knelt before her, his dark brown hands cupping her EE breasts, his thumbs brushing her pink nipples until they stiffened into hard peaks. He sucked one into his mouth, his tongue flicking the sensitive tip, then pulling it deep, the suction sending a jolt straight to her core. Sarah’s breath hitched, her hands quit pushing against their hard chests, instead sliding over their black slightly sweaty sin—Marcus’s bulging biceps, Tyrone’s chiseled abs—marveling at the stark contrast of their dark flesh against her pale, porcelain hands. Her EE breasts heaved with each ragged breath, their heavy curves swaying, the skin flushed pink, her nipples throbbing under Tyrone’s assault. Her wide hips flared from a narrow waist, her round, firm ass quivering as she shifted, her creamy thighs trembling, her shaved blonde landing strip glistening with arousal, her vaginal lips swollen and slick. *This isn’t me. This is ungodly,* she thought, her pastor’s voice echoing in her mind—*flee from temptation, lest you fall*—but her body burned, a traitor to her faith, her womanhood dampening her inner thighs with every touch.

“Honey?” she whimpered, her blue eyes catching a glimpse of John between the two black bodies. He sat frozen on the armchair, his hand wrapped around his pitiful five-inch penis, stroking slowly, his eyes, zoned out glassy with a mix of lust and shame. His face was flushed, his breaths shallow, the ED pills fueling his arousal even as his marriage unraveled before him. Sarah’s heart twisted filled with contempt John’s behavior—*He’s my husband, my vow before God*—but the heat in her core drowned her guilt, her body craving the men who now owned her attention.

Marcus silenced her with a rough kiss, his lips crushing hers, his tongue plunging deep, claiming her mouth with a hunger that stole her breath. The taste of beer and pot smoke overwhelmed her senses, his broad lips pressing hard, his hand tangling in her blonde hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. Tyrone slapped his 10-inch cock against her cheek, the heavy thud jolting her, the musky scent filling her nose. “You a good cocksucker, Sarah?” he taunted, his voice dripping with challenge, his dark brown eyes glinting with amusement.

She flushed, her cheeks burning, shaking her head, staring cross-eyed down his unclean cock while Marcus licked her ear. “Never… not even with John,” she admitted, her voice soft, almost ashamed. “It’s unnatural, dirty.” Her pastor’s sermons rang in her ears—*Honor god with thy mouth*—but her eyes darted to Tyrone’s cock, so close to her lips. 

Tyrone grinned, gripping her hair gently, guiding her face closer. “Guess it’s time for you to get dirty then,” he said, his voice low and commanding. He pressed the thick head to her lips, smearing precum across them, the salty tang flooding her senses, both repulsive and intoxicating. Sarah trembled, holding her lips tight. “Open bitch,” he growled. She jerked at his sharp tone, his voice authoritative and commanding. She parted her mouth, tentative, her tongue grazing the foreskin, marveling at its texture—smooth yet firm, sliding back to reveal the glistening head, the ridge catching her lips. She grabbed the base of his shaft to hold it steady, opening wider as he pulled her head forward. Her jaw stretched, struggling with his girth, her lips wrapping tight around the shaft, the weight heavy on her tongue. She gagged as he pushed deeper, spit dribbling down her chin, pooling on her EE breasts, but his hand held her steady, guiding her into a clumsy rhythm. *Lord, forgive me,* she thought, her mind screaming, but her tongue swirled, exploring the ridges, the heat, the sheer size overwhelming her senses. The foreskin moved under her lips, a new sensation that fascinated her, her fingers brushing the shaft, feeling the veins pulse. He pulled her head, bucking his hips. Sarah choked, struggling until he released her and she could pull back.

Marcus watched, stroking his 12-inch cock, its dark length glistening, the circumcised head a deep purple, veins bulging like cords. “My turn, slut,” he growled, slapping it against her other cheek, the weight making her flinch. She turned, her lips stretching wider, her throat constricting as she took him in, her blue eyes watering, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. His cock was bigger, harder to manage, the head hitting her gag reflex with each bob, the musky scent stronger, filling her nose with every breath. “Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, his hips rocking slightly, feeding her more, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. She stared up Marcus’ torso, his body ebon masculine perfection, his ugly negroid face sneering down at her. It didn’t seem so unnatural anymore to be servicing such a perfect black cock. A moan of lust rose in the back of her throat and she began sucking Marcus’ cock harder. Her moans vibrated around him, a deep hum that sent pleasure shooting through him, her resistance crumbling as she surrendered to the act. His cock was a beast, the veins stretching her lips, the smooth head pressing against the back of her throat, her jaw aching from the effort. He released her head and she grabbed the base of his shaft with both hands, bobbing her head rapidly, staring up at him, filled with a desire to please the man.

Tyrone grabbed her arm and pulled her off the couch. Sarah fell to her knees, the two men towering over her. She grabbed Marcus’ shaft, pulling his cock back toward her mouth, but Tyrone grabbed her hair twisting it back towards his cock, pushing it past her lips. She sucked, relaxing her gag reflex though still not managing to get much past the head in her mouth. Her hand stroked Marcus while she did her best to please Tyrone.

She alternated, sucking Tyrone, then Marcus, her hands jerking what her mouth couldn’t take, her fingers barely circling their girths. Her technique grew bolder, sloppy but eager, her lips sliding along Tyrone’s shaft, the foreskin gliding under her tongue, then stretching to accommodate Marcus’s less thick, circumcised length. She cupped their heavy balls, rolling them gently, marveling at their size—each pair dwarfing John’s, hanging low and full, the skin taut and warm. *So wrong, but so good,* she thought, her pussy clenching with need, her juices dripping onto the carpet, her EE breasts bouncing with each movement, her pink nipples brushing their thighs, her round ass swaying as she leaned forward.

The porn played on the TV, the blonde that so resembled Sarah now kneeling before two black men in a parody of what was happening in the living room of the Miller’s good Christian home. The blonde’s moans mirroring Sarah’s own rising desire, the bassline pulsing through the room, amplifying the heat in her core.

Tyrone’s breath quickened, his balls tightening under her fingers. “Gonna cum, bitch,” he growled, thrusting faster, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She tried to pull back, her eyes wide with panic, but his hand held her firm, her blonde hair wrapped around his fingers. He erupted, hot spurts flooding her mouth, the tangy taste overwhelming, a mix of salt and musk that shocked her senses. She swallowed, her throat working, gulping down several more mouthfuls, surprised by how much she liked it, the warmth sliding down, some dribbling from her lips, streaking her chin and splattering her EE breasts. “Good girl,” he rasped, pulling out, a strand of cum stretching from her mouth to his cock, snapping as he stepped back.

Marcus fisted his cock, his eyes locked on her cum-streaked face, her blue eyes dazed with shock that she’d just swallowed a black man’s seed. “Open wide, slut,” he ordered, his voice a command. She obeyed, her mouth a perfect O, her tongue extended, and he blasted her, ropes of thick cum streaking her cheeks, forehead, and tits. One strand caught her eyelash, another dripped to her collarbone, a third splattered her EE breasts, coating her pink nipples, the sticky warmth pooling in the valley between them. She gasped, dazed, the sensation a brand of her submission, her body humming with forbidden pleasure. *Forgive me, lord,* she thought, her thighs pressing together, grateful the two men were spent and her womanhood was safe from their voluminous seed.

Marcus grabbed her chin, tilting her face up, his thumb smearing his cum across her lips. “Look at you, baptized by black jizz,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Ain’t no goin’ back now, Sarah.” He pushed his semen covered thumb in her mouth, her lips clamping down around it to suck his seed off, knowing that was what he wanted and filled with a strange desire to please him. 

Tyrone stepped closer, towering over her, his cock already hardening again, the foreskin sliding back as he stroked. “Ready for round two, baby?” he asked, guiding her hand back to his shaft. 

“How?” she mumbled, feeling it swell in her hand, believing she was safe from further sin. She stroked, mesmerized by its weight, the texture of the foreskin under her fingers, the veins pulsing with renewed life. Marcus joined, their cocks looming over her like twin towers, dark and imposing. She sucked them again, alternating, her lips swollen, her throat sore but hungry. She took Tyrone deep, her nose brushing his pubes, the musky scent intoxicating, then switched to Marcus, gagging as he hit the back of her throat, her tears mixing with the cum on her face. Her hands worked in sync, jerking one while sucking the other, her moans a constant hum, her large breasts bouncing, her nipples grazing their thighs, her ass swaying rhythmically.

“Damn Sarah,” grunted Tyrone when her lips nearly kissed his pubes. “We’ll make a cocksucker out of you yet.”

“Sluts a natural,” agreed Marcus when her lips managed to get two-thirds of the way down his shaft. 

Sarah flushed with elation and pride. She was getting better sucking their black cocks and so far, they seemed satisfied with blow jobs, keeping her marriage vows safe from their weapons.

She explored every inch—licking Tyrone’s foreskin, sucking the head, tasting the precum that leaked from the slit, then tracing Marcus’s veins with her tongue, her lips stretching to take his girth. Her EE breasts swayed heavily, their weight pulling at her chest, her pink nipples aching for touch, her round ass jiggling with each movement. The porn’s bassline pulsed, the blonde now taking two cocks on screen, her screams echoing Sarah’s own rising need. *Good Christian wives don’t suck black cocks,* she thought, her mind clinging to fragments of her vows, but her body craved more, her hands and mouth worshipping their cocks with desperate fervor, her pussy throbbing, begging to be filled. She fought the urge to touch herself sinfully.

They pushed her further, Tyrone guiding her head to keep taking him deeper, her throat constricting, her gags muffled by his girth. Marcus slapped his cock against her cheek, then her lips, the head leaving a trail of precum. “Say you love black cock?” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. He swung his cock back and forth, smacking her cheeks with the hard head. “Say it!”

“I love black cock,” she moaned, turning her head in an attempt to take him back in her mouth, her pussy dripping, her breasts heaving, her blue eyes glazed with lust. 

John gasped when she said it, his hand a blur on his five-inch cock, his face a mask of arousal and despair. He wanted to stop this, to reclaim his wife, but the pills and pot kept him rooted, his body betraying him as much as Sarah’s betrayed her vows. Her moans, her eagerness, her transformation into something he didn’t recognize—it tore at him, but his cock throbbed, leaking precum, his shame buried under the haze.

Tyrone pulled out, his cock slick with her spit, glistening under the living room lights. She turned to take Marcus, but Tyrone held her still, his eyes glinting with hunger. “Time to black that white pussy.”

“No,” she gasped as they grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“Gonna turn you out for the black man,” he added. 

“Please,” she begged, her vagina quivering with need. “Let me suck you.” 

Tyrone flipped Sarah onto all fours on the couch, her knees sinking into the plush beige cushions, her round ass high and vulnerable, the creamy skin flushed a deep pink. Her huge breasts hung heavy, swaying with each ragged breath, their heavy weight pulling at her chest, her pink nipples hard as pebbles, brushing the fabric below. Her wide hips flared from a narrow waist, her toned stomach taut, her long, shapely legs trembling, spread wide to expose her shaved blonde landing strip, her pussy lips swollen, pink, and glistening with arousal. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, sticking to her sweaty back, her blue eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation, her heart pounding like a drum. Her eyes frozen on the TV, the blonde slut on all fours like she was, getting fucked like an animal from behind. *This can’t be happening,* she thought, her pastor’s voice a faint whisper—*Thy marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.”*—but her body ached, her pussy throbbing, begging to be filled, her faith crumbling under the weight of her desire.

Tyrone knelt behind her, his 10-inch cock glistening with her spit, the foreskin partially covering the head, He placed his hands on the firm outthrust contours of her rear end, the dark brown skin a stark contrast to her pale ass flesh. He pressed the thick head to her entrance, teasing her slick folds, the touch sending a shiver through her. “Gonna be black only when I’m done with you, Sarah?” he rasped, his hands gripping her hips, his thumbs spreading her cheeks to expose her puckered rosebud and her quivering pussy, the pink lips parting slightly, revealing the tight entrance within. The head of his cock, drooling precum, bobbing slightly barely touching her wetness.

Sarah’s breath caught, her body tensing, her mind racing. “Please… use a condom,” she begged, her voice trembling, her blue eyes darting in fear to her glassy-eyed husband, then to Marcus, who stood nearby, stroking his cock. “It’s a bad time, too risky. I’ve never… not without protection.” Her voice cracked, her fear real—her cycle was at its peak, her womb fertile, her and John’s special night, the thought of pregnancy terrifying, especially under these circumstances. “Please?” she begged, her hands gripping the armrests, her knuckles white.

“Don’t have any, Sarah,” he said, pressing his cock against her pussy. Sarah jerked, feeling the hard weapon slowly pushing her vaginal lips apart. “Better fucking bareback anyway.”

“JOHN!” she squealed, eyes wide with alarm. Her vagina was being stretched wide up by Tyrone’s huge cock head. “Get one of your condoms.”

John tried to push himself up while pulling on his pants. Marcus turned, stepping closer, his cock bobbing in front of him, the circumcised head glistening. John stared down at the monster in horror. “Sit down, white boy. Your little rubbers wouldn’t fit us anyway,” he said, his voice a growl. “Too small for real men.” He nodded down towards John’s skinny five-inch dick still rock hard. John sank back down in his chair, staring at Tyrone. He could see most of that fat black dick sticking out from his wife’s thighs. The black bastard was taking his prize, the first man to have Sarah bareback. 

“OH!” she said in surprise, her vagina stretching further than ever as the head slipped in. Sarah’s cheeks burned, her panic rising, her voice desperate. “Please, I can’t get pregnant by a nig—another man than John,” she gasped, catching herself mid-slur, her eyes wide with horror at the word she’d nearly spoken. Her pastor’s sermons on purity, on the sanctity of marriage, flooded her mind, but her body trembled, her vagina squeezing around the head, contracting inward in an effort to get more.