White Wife becomes a BBC Slut Story - Adult English Stories
(My friend Jennifer asked me to post this for her. She's too shy to get her own account.)


I can’t believe what I‘ve become! A slave to black cock! I’m a well respected person in my community. I have a good husband. We have two young k**s. We live in a nice home out in the country. We go to church. Everyone thinks we have the perfect f****y. And we do. I’m not unhappy at all. I know my husband loves me and I am happy with my life. That’s why I’m so confused by what’s happened.

It all started about a month ago when I went to a funeral. I have a black lady that helps clean my house and watch my k**s. My husband and I are very busy. He and I both work full time and we volunteer with civic groups and at church. Plus the k**s are involved in sports and dance and gymnastics. Sometimes it feels like I can’t keep up with everything. That’s why it is such a blessing to have Cassandra at the house a few days a week. We couldn’t do with out her.

Well, Cassandra is from a large f****y. I can’t keep up with how many b*****rs and s****rs she has. One of her older b*****rs, Roger, had been in poor health for the last year. Then, over the last few months, he was in and out of the hospital a few times. He finally ended up in the hospital for about two weeks. Cassandra had been keeping me up to date on him and I even visited him one time at the hospital.

Roger was a big man who obviously was not doing well. He was hooked up to IV’s and oxygen and was wearing a hospital gown that seemed far too small for his big frame. I felt weird in the hospital room with him and his f****y. It was the first time I had been alone in a room full of black people. But I put aside my uncomfortable feelings. I wanted to do something nice for Cassandra. She was always so nice to me.

The nurse came in while I was there to check the bed pan. Before I could excuse myself, she had already pulled the cover back and I saw Roger’s penis hanging down below the hem of his hospital gown. If it had been my husband, the gown would have easily concealed his penis. But Roger’s was so long it almost went down to his knees. u*********sly I let out an “Oh!” and drew my hand to my mouth. I quickly looked away embarrassed but the image was already burned into my mind. His cock (oh my goodness! A month ago I would have never said that word!) His cock was the color of chocolate. It was flaccid, but it looked like a snake laying on top of Roger’s inner thigh. The thickness of it, reminded me of the cucumbers I often buy at the supermarket. Now every time I buy one I think of Roger’s “cock”.

Roger sort of chuckled and said “Sorry ‘bout dat.” as the nurse replaced the covers. He seemed as embarrassed as me. Everyone in the room quietly laughed the accident off. I think I saw the nurse give me a funny smile as she left the room. I said my goodbyes and left as soon as I could. On the way passed the nurses station, I heard them giggling as they talked. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the nurse from the room smiled a sly smile at me while all here friends stared at the ground awkwardly while I passed.

Roger died about a week latter. I decided I should go to the funeral to support Cassandra. I was really nervous about it and asked my husband to go with me. Cassandra goes to an all black church and I have never been to one. I grew up in a town where there are few black people accept in the bad part of town. I have only known one or two blacks my whole life. Cassandra is the only one I have ever really talked to. My husband likes Cassandra too and he agreed we should go together to support her.

We arrived at the church early but it was already full. The church was a lot smaller than the one I attend but black men and women and even c***dren were packed into every available space. It didn’t seem like there was anywhere left to sit. My husband and I weren’t sure what we should do. I thought maybe we should leave but I didn‘t want to offend. I felt so out of place. I was really glad my husband was with me. Then the usher spoke to me. She was a young, slender teenaged girl wearing a white dress and white hat. Here skin looked so dark against her white dress. She looked at me and my husband and said, “Miss, you can sit here, but there’s only room for one.”

My husband politely said, “You sit down, Dear. I’ll stand in the back with those others.” He pointed to a few black men who were dressed in suits standing in the back of the church. I really DID NOT want to leave my husband’s side, but before I could protest the people on the pew squeezed together to make a small space for me. I squeezed onto the end of the pew next to a rather large black man who I guessed was well over 200 pounds.

It’s a good thing I am a very slender girl or I would not have fit. I’m 5 feet 8 inches tall but I only weigh 118 pounds. I have brown hair that I have colored with blond highlights. People tell me I’m beautiful. I did some amateur modeling and pageant work before I had k**s and got so busy. My husband tells me I still look as pretty as I did in college, but I’m starting to see a few lines in my face (which I can cover up with a little makeup). Sigh… One cannot stay young forever…

I felt very awkward sitting by myself next to a row full of black people. I was pressed up against the big black guy next to me. There was nothing I could do about it. There was no more space. I could feel his body heat (and soon his moist sweat) through his black pants and my own skirt. I was thankful to be sitting though. I was wearing a pair of black stilettos that look awesome but are not made to stand in for a long time. I had on a really nice fitting black dress that works great for both funerals, church, or a date night with hubby. It is not too tight or slutty like some of the things I see girls wear on TV, but it looks really good on my slender body with my long legs underneath. Hot but also proper.

The church was filled with the musky smell of men who were wearing too much cheap cologne. It quickly became stifling as the congregation began to sing and call out to the preacher who was pounding the pulpit and slipping in and out of preaching and singing. I had expected a boring, sad funeral service like the ones we have at my church. Those only last about 30-45 minutes. This was not like that at all. The service was exciting and energetic, filled with people dancing and singing and waving fans. All this went on for almost 3 hours.

I had never been around so many black people in my life, let alone so many big black men. They were all dressed in dress clothes with shoes shined. Some wore gold jewelry or nice hats. They looked similar to those stereotypical “pimps” from the 70s, but not quite that gaudy. Several times during the service, the preacher directed the congregation to “give the person next to you a hug”. This meant I had to endure the big black man beside me engulfing me in his massive embrace. At first it was awful. He smelled of sweat and too much cologne. His body was hot and I somehow felt “too good” to be in physical contact with him. But after the second or third time we were exhorted to “show our neighbors some love“, I started feeling strangely comforted by his big strong arms. I felt like a toothpick in his immense grip. My mind began to drift in a heady high as he pressed the side of my pretty face into his huge chest. I felt so under his control but in a good way.

Several times during the service, I noticed guys in the room checking me out. Some stole sideways glances at me while others blatantly winked at me while smiling a (somehow) dirty and knowing smile. It was hard to miss me. It’s not like I blended in. I was the only white girl in the room. Well accept for one other pale, white girl with dark hair who looked tired and was holding a black baby. She caught my eye once and a dirty smile flashed across her face after she looked me up and down. Several of the other black women in the room did the same thing to me though. They seemed a bit jealous. I was obviously the prettiest girl in the church. I was taller than any other girl (accept for one black woman who was really tall and seemed almost Amazonian). I’m not conceded but I have a really good figure with nice breasts and a dainty waste. My legs are long and shapely and I have a pretty face with blue eyes that pop (especially when I wear the right makeup). And I was white while everyone else was black. Somehow, that made me feel special and very attractive.

After a while my awkward feelings began to pass and I began to enjoy having so many men (and a few women) eyeing me. What a strange feeling! I have rarely felt “sexy” at church. I have NEVER felt “sexy” at a funeral. But there I was feeling really hot. I actually noticed a wet feeling growing between my legs. My panties were actually getting wet! It was partly because the room had become stiflingly hot. But it was also because I was getting sort of hot and bothered!

Well, I have rambled on and I haven’t even gotten to the main part of my story yet. I have to take a break for now but I promise to write more latter. I really want to tell you my full dilemma.

(To be continued)
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