I’d never really been obsessed with black men, the way some white women are. Sure, Nitin and I watched a lot of inter-racial porn on the internet, usually on a Saturday night when the kids were at Nitin’s Mom’s, but there is just so much of it, it was hard to avoid. We could pass a very pleasant evening in front of the monitor, sipping drinks, with his hand down my panties and my hand stroking his meat. It reminded us of our courting days and it would usually end up with a very nice fuck when we finally hit the sack. By that time he’d be hard as a rock and I’d be dripping.

I wasn’t infatuated with big cocks for one thing. Those monsters that hung halfway down a guy’s thigh and looked as if they’d need a crane to get erect actually scared me. They looked so uncomfortable, despite the yelps of pleasure the actresses gave as they were forced into their tight little twats. I should have noticed that Nitin kept navigating to the IR sites but, as I’ve said, I just wasn’t interested in the color or size of the appendages on offer, I just liked seeing pretty people fucking. What I did notice, if anything, was that many of these inter-racial encounters were between married women and their black lovers, and often with the encouragement and approval of their husbands. I don’t know if that’s what put the thought into Nitin’s head, because we didn’t really talk a lot about sex, we just did it. Something to do with our upbringing I suppose. Not exactly repressed, just that we kept our fantasies, if we had any, strictly inside our own heads.

Anyway, Nitin’s boss at the plant where he worked was a black guy called Byron. Byron was about ten years older than Nitin with a little grey at the temples and maybe a couple of inches taller. He was a good-looking guy with a wide smile that could light up a room. Always, smiling, always laughing, always joking, I liked him, but not in that way, for no other reason than I didn’t think about other men. Not real other men anyway, just the usual movie stars and stuff. I’d been faithful to Nitin since we married twelve years ago and had no intention of cheating on him.

Hell, I’m telling you all this stuff and I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Varsha, though everybody calls me Vishu. I’m 34 years old and have two kids, I have short blonde hair, I’m five six and weigh around one twenty pounds. I have a fairly average body, not fat and not too busty or too hippy. Basically, I’m as average as they come. Nitin tells me he likes me the way I am and how sexy I am, so he’s not interested in other women. He follows Paul Newman’s adage of ‘why go out for hamburger when you’ve got steak at home’, sensible man. It’s good for a woman’s ego to know she’s regarded as steak. Unless her husband’s a vegetarian, of course!


Anyway, one evening Byron had been over for dinner as he and his wife had split up and Nitin was trying to curry favour with him as there was a promotion in the offing. It wasn’t sneaky or anything, everybody was doing it and Byron was well aware of what was going on. The general feeling was that Byron would give the promotion to the guy whose wife fed him best. That meant that my Nitin had no chance, as I was an average cook at best.

After he’d left Nitin said, “I bet Byron’s lonely in that big house now Marion’s gone.”

“Well he would be,” I agreed, “They were together a long time. Just lucky they didn’t have any kids and had a clean break.”


“He was looking at you, all through dinner.”

“No.”

“I’m telling you. His eyes were travelling all over you, undressing you.”

“You’re nuts!”


“He was trying to imagine what you’d look like naked.”

“Nitin!” I squealed.

I was washing the dishes and he came up behind me, put his arms around my waist and pressed against me. I could feel his hardness against my ass.

“I think he’d like to fuck you.”

I tried to spin round but he held me fast and started pumping his crotch against my butt. “Fuck you with that big, black, cock of his.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses? The kids are right next door.”

“They won’t hear, they’re too busy with that game Byron brought them.”

I finally managed to push him off me and turned to face him. “Have you gone out of your mind? What’s brought all this on?”

“I’ve always fantasised about seeing you with a black guy.”

“Since when?” I asked.

“Since a long time, but seeing Byron eyeing you really brought it home.”

I looked down at his groin and just talking about it had given him an incredible boner.

“Well, it’s not going to happen,” I told him sternly, “so you can put that little fantasy back in your locker.”

“Why?” he asked, grabbing my crutch and squeezing my pudenda.

“Because I’m a married woman and I’m faithful to my husband,” I answered.

“I’ll bet you’re wet,” he said, “I’ll bet you’re wet just thinking about it.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“If you’re wet down there, you want it.”

I tried to fight him off, but he pushed me against the draining board and holding me with one hand, popped the button and unzipped my jeans with the other.

“Get off me, Nitin!” I protested, but to no avail.

His free hand went under the waistband of my panties, over my pubic mound and down between my legs. I tried to keep my thighs tight shut but he managed to wriggle a finger between my lips and finally into my pussy. When he pulled it out and held it in front of my face it was slick with my juice and Nitin just smiled at me.

He never said any more, just licked his finger and left me there, blushing to my roots, leaning against the worktop, with my jeans unzipped.

That night he fucked me very roughly, pounding into me as if I’d done something wrong and he wanted to extract revenge by battering my pussy. In truth his vigour excited me and I felt I deserved to be punished, if only because my juicy hole had betrayed me. I hadn’t consciously thought about being fucked by Byron, but obviously my pussy had. I came several times as Nitin rammed into me, and each time I gave out a loud groan of pleasure and dug my fingernails into my husband’s back.

As we reclined afterwards, sheathed in sweat, he asked, “Do you want me to try and get Bryon for you?”

“No,” I insisted.

“Pity,” he said, “because I’m never going to get that promotion with your pot roast.”

So, I thought to myself, that’s what this is all about. My husband wants me to trade my pussy for his job. Well, I wasn’t putting out for that. We could do with the extra money, but I was a married woman and I wasn’t going to become a slut and sell my body for Nitin’s advancement. I drifted off on that thought.

A few days later, as he was getting ready to go off to work, he asked if he could invite Byron over for dinner again.

“Hey, honey,” I replied, packing his lunch-time sandwiches, “I know you want that job, but there’s no need to be blatant about it.”

“Screw the promotion. Byron being over for dinner meant I got the best fuck for ages from you.”

I blushed again. “Well, what do you expect, you were going at me like a jack-hammer, like it was the first time you’d ever had me.”

It was his turn to look embarrassed. “You got me going, getting all wet like that.”

“It’s not a faucet I can turn on and off. I had no idea I’d been so aroused.”

“Well, you were and .. it was good.”

I gave him a peck on the cheek. “It was good for me too, but we can’t base our sex life round inviting Byron round for dinner.”

“Why not?”

“Because for one thing he’ll think we’re crazy and for another his guts probably can’t handle me feeding him too often.”

“You’re not that bad,” he consoled, pulling me to him and hugging me.

“You sweet-talker,” I giggled.

“So, I can invite him?”

“No, not so soon. In a couple of weeks maybe. Or is that too late for your promotion?”

“I told you, it’s got nothing to do with the job. Just, he turns you on and I get the benefits.”

“Which is a bit unfair on Byron,” I said, pushing him out of the door. “Nitin and Vishu get good sex and all he gets is indigestion.”

A few hours later he called me on his cell-phone and said, “Byron’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Nitin!” I complained.

“No, I didn’t ask him, he asked me. Said he’d like to see my cute little wife again.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and I took a moment to realise it was mine. “Cute?” I asked breathily.

“That’s what he said.”

“What does he mean?” I asked, noticing that I had sat down without even realising it.

“What do you think he means? He thinks you’re cute.”

“What have you told him?” I hissed, suddenly suspicious.

“Nothing, I swear, he just came out with it from nowhere.”

It seemed unlikely but I was mollified enough to deal with practicalities. “I don’t have anything in.”

“I saw salmon in the freezer. Make that thing in the pastry you do. He’ll like that.”

“Nitin,” I said hesitantly, “You haven’t set me up for anything, have you?”

“Honey, on my life. Anyway, what could I set you up for, with the kids in the house and everything?”

“Okay,” I said finally, “ but take him for a beer first, I’ll need some time to get things fixed.”

“Sure, sure, just make sure to look extra cute, huh,” he ordered.

“And how am I expected to do that?”

“Wear a skirt, show off those great legs.”

“How much is this promotion worth? A hundred bucks a week?”

He didn’t snap back at me but said wearily, “I told you, it’s not about the job. It’s about me and you.”

“And Byron,” I added.

“I told you he liked you.