My kink is far from outrageous. It might even be considered commonplace, and although it involves me cuckolding my husband, well, that's just icing on the cake. The real pleasure, of course, is the sex I'm having outside my marriage, not just the fact that I'm having it.
My kink is still shocking though. If you looked at me, a young, trim, suburban wife, and I told you what it was, you'd be surprised. But, and you wouldn't be able to help it, you'd be a little bit excited too.
My kink is one that everyone is aware of, because if you say the word "interracial" people immediately think of the cliché, a big, black man, and a small, probably blonde, white woman. And that kink ties into something that feeds off more than 200 years of history. Interracial sex is still naughty because the shadow of America's past looms over every sexual encounter that crosses that color line.
My kink involves fucking black men. Giving myself to them, opening myself up to them, letting them use me, taking all they have to give me.
When I tell my girlfriends about the sex I have with my lover, it's all about the power. It's all about surrender. It's because it's instinctual. This isn't "topping" because he's not making an effort. As a powerful black man, he just takes control, he takes me, and it is spectacular. I come so much harder, and he does all the work.
My husband wondered a little when I started changing my image for my black lovers. When I first got my Brazilian he was surprised and pleased, but he never appreciated it as much as any of my lovers. When I started wearing shorter skirts to show off my fit ass, I told him I was enjoying a return to my youthful college days. I still had the body for it, after all, so why not take advantage of it. I never go dancing with my husband, but every other week I fake a girl's night out and go grind on my lover in public. Everyone notices us, watches us, and it makes it so much hotter.
Because the thrill builds up long before we ever go to bed. Just sitting together at a restaurant, you can tell that many of the other diners disapprove of our interracial pairing. Maybe they won't admit it, but you can see it on their faces. Then there are those who are like me, I can see on their faces that the only thing they see when they look at the two of us, my small white self, and his strong black person, and their minds immediately leap to him taking me, maybe even bending me over the table then and there and thrusting into me.
I don't know if he gets the same thrill out of being in public as I do, but the tension just builds and builds for me, so when we finally do fuck, I've built up such a head of steam I can barely control myself. And make no mistake, I'm happy to admit it. This happens because he's black. He turns me on because he's black. Specifically, a black man in America. Maybe in some other country, Asian men have the same status for Hispanic women. I don't know. All I know is that you can keep your chains and leather and girl on girl action and just set me up with a black man.
Let him make up for years of oppression by fucking me. Give him his own personal triumph and let him celebrate all over my breasts or my ass. If you think of it that way, I'm practically doing a public service.
But as often as not, I don't think about it. I don't need to understand why something turns me on to know that I love it. I don't need to know why the buttons work so long as they work. And my one big button is big black men and boy does it work. In fact, I think I'll call one right now. Just talking about it got me all worked up.
My kink is still shocking though. If you looked at me, a young, trim, suburban wife, and I told you what it was, you'd be surprised. But, and you wouldn't be able to help it, you'd be a little bit excited too.
My kink is one that everyone is aware of, because if you say the word "interracial" people immediately think of the cliché, a big, black man, and a small, probably blonde, white woman. And that kink ties into something that feeds off more than 200 years of history. Interracial sex is still naughty because the shadow of America's past looms over every sexual encounter that crosses that color line.
My kink involves fucking black men. Giving myself to them, opening myself up to them, letting them use me, taking all they have to give me.
You might not even call it a kink, but nothing gets me hotter and wetter faster than thinking about it, and it's always on my mind.
It all comes down to something my lover said to me the other night, just before he entered me: "This big nigger's gonna fuck you good." How can you resist that? No scenario where my husband tries to top me or take control in the bedroom will ever even come close to pushing a taboo button like that does. And you know what? It's not racist to admit that. It's racist to pretend it doesn't exist.
When I tell my girlfriends about the sex I have with my lover, it's all about the power. It's all about surrender. It's because it's instinctual. This isn't "topping" because he's not making an effort. As a powerful black man, he just takes control, he takes me, and it is spectacular. I come so much harder, and he does all the work.
My husband wondered a little when I started changing my image for my black lovers. When I first got my Brazilian he was surprised and pleased, but he never appreciated it as much as any of my lovers. When I started wearing shorter skirts to show off my fit ass, I told him I was enjoying a return to my youthful college days. I still had the body for it, after all, so why not take advantage of it. I never go dancing with my husband, but every other week I fake a girl's night out and go grind on my lover in public. Everyone notices us, watches us, and it makes it so much hotter.
Because the thrill builds up long before we ever go to bed. Just sitting together at a restaurant, you can tell that many of the other diners disapprove of our interracial pairing. Maybe they won't admit it, but you can see it on their faces. Then there are those who are like me, I can see on their faces that the only thing they see when they look at the two of us, my small white self, and his strong black person, and their minds immediately leap to him taking me, maybe even bending me over the table then and there and thrusting into me.
I don't know if he gets the same thrill out of being in public as I do, but the tension just builds and builds for me, so when we finally do fuck, I've built up such a head of steam I can barely control myself. And make no mistake, I'm happy to admit it. This happens because he's black. He turns me on because he's black. Specifically, a black man in America. Maybe in some other country, Asian men have the same status for Hispanic women. I don't know. All I know is that you can keep your chains and leather and girl on girl action and just set me up with a black man.
Let him make up for years of oppression by fucking me. Give him his own personal triumph and let him celebrate all over my breasts or my ass. If you think of it that way, I'm practically doing a public service.
But as often as not, I don't think about it. I don't need to understand why something turns me on to know that I love it. I don't need to know why the buttons work so long as they work. And my one big button is big black men and boy does it work. In fact, I think I'll call one right now. Just talking about it got me all worked up.
:biggrin:
