How did I go from being the happily married white wife only a few days ago to the collared slut who's on her knees right now? Honestly, there isn't an easy answer, and I really can't blame my husband for any of it. The thing is, I've always had the fantasy; it's always been there as a thought in the back of my mind. But after Lydia's drunken confession about sucking other guys off—encouraged by her husband, no less—everything changed. Late one night, while he slept beside me, I scrolled through swinger sites and found him: a commanding Black man whose videos left me breathless, his dominance claiming every woman on screen like they were his to break and rebuild.
One message turned into a meeting. One meeting turned into surrender—his hands on me in a crowded bar, his voice ordering me to spread for him, his friends joining in to stretch and fill me until I shattered. They owned every hole, and then sent me home leaking, aching, alive. My husband? He waits desperate while I confess every filthy detail, his arousal twisted with jealousy as I make him taste what they left behind. But now, the power's shifted. I'm not just his hotwife anymore—I'm his queen, forcing him to beg.
