I can’t believe it, I am pissed, no- fuming, that my husband let his pervy game come to this. It’s not that we are swingers or sexual deviants; he just gets his rocks off watching me be a little too flirty and a strange pair of hands touching me up. Usually by now he would have dragged me back home and given me a good seeing to.
My situation was anything but normal, firstly I was in a street whore’s knocking shop in one of Mombasa’s shanty towns. The shack was quite literally four walls of mud bricks with holes in them for a door and slatted windows. What little light there was came in through a couple of Perspex sheets installed in a corrugated tin roof above a mattress that was placed in the corner on the dirt floor. The mattress was so dirty and manky any refuse personnel would have to wear protective clothing to take it away, never mind imagining some whore do her business on it. And to add insult to injury, the floor around the mattress was littered with used condoms like unwanted confetti at an aborted wedding.
However that wasn’t the worst of it, the naked middle-aged African standing in front of me was the real problem. And god was he African ugly: a big round face with a flat nose at its center, he looked like he had had an accident with the back end of a horse. And he had a pot belly that indicated he should have been many more months pregnant than I wanted to be.
Well I digress, maybe I should introduce us? My name is Pandora and I am a five ten, natural D cup blond from the Bible belt of America. The third person in the room is my husband John, the pasty faced white boy standing next to the camping stove in the middle of the shack.
With that said, the reason I am in this shack was after my second miscarriage, our preacher, reverend Tom, suggested we take a sun, sea and sex vacation, his words, to Kenya. He assured us it would be safe as our Christian sect had partnered up with the BsAfrica Movement and we could get a huge discount. -Made in Africa- I thought and couldn’t stop thinking about the extra passenger I hopefully would be taking on board the flight home.
On our first day of vacation, John in all his wisdom decided to do a bit of sun bathing au-natural as they say. The midday Kenyan sun saw an end to that and up to now I haven’t seen any action, and we are already half way through the holiday.
Maybe that’s why the big black cock that’s pointing at me like the barrel of a gun is so intriguing, as well as enormous. I can’t take my eyes off it; it even looks bigger than my favourite black dildo. And those ball sacks that swing underneath, they look big enough to carry enough jizz to float a boatload of kids. It’s like my head is screaming at me to run, but my pussy is the one running. So I am stuck, it’s like I have a shotgun to my head, and feel completely drained and unable to move.
The African ever so slightly shuffles forward, I am forced back and find my heels wedged against the mattress, my next move will be to fall backwards. I glance nervously at John as the African slides the straps of my summer dress off my shoulders, it falls to the floor and I am left standing in my bikini. All of a sudden the pieces of cloth covering my virtue seem way too small. One hundred dollars for three tiny triangles of textile, I suddenly realise I have been ripped off, never mind what a pair of fat black fingers were about to do.
Slowly the African raised his hands and gently put one palm on my stomach and starts to air brush around my breasts with the other hand, getting closer with each circle. I almost don’t notice the pressure on my chest until I start to topple over. In response I raised my hand and turn it in to the universal signal to stop. The African hooks a finger in to my bikini top before letting his hands fall to his side. Luckily the strap didn’t fail and I quickly slid an exposed breast back in place and glowered at my husband, but he just stood there with his usual childish grin and boner, obviously enjoying himself.
I don’t know where it came from but a hot anger suddenly spread through me from way below. I was so angry all I wanted to do was hurt that white boy. Then something flowed through me like I was possessed. Before I knew it my lips were close to the African’s ear, so close if I stuck out my tongue I could have licked him. “How many brothels do you own?” I whispered. Ok, that sounds worse than it is, let me explain.
For the last nine days I have been stuck in the hotel room listening to my husband whine on about how the mid-day sun might have made him sterile. Nothing to do with the global sterility pandemic that made most Caucasian males unable to father children. After all, I’ve had two miscarriages in less than a year and according to the Reverend Tomas it was all part of God’s plan. And nothing to do with the extra hormone they put in the water to identify fertile females. For my sins I didn’t hold back on commenting on how red and swollen his balls looked, never mind his little sunburned, shrivelled pole. The conversation would always turn to the global sterility pandemic and how for some reason middle aged sub-Saharan men seemed to be unaffected. The banter would end with me threatening to find another big black pole to dance around.
-Be careful what you wish for-
Anyway this morning my husband decided he was well enough to take a trip. The receptionist suggested we go into town to an apothecary shop called the Witch Doctor and get a pot of their famous Aloe Vera sun burn remedy. She sorted out the bus route and told us where to get off.
During breakfast we mulled over our day’s excursion in Mombasa, Kenya’s capital city, while the waiter plied us with his special sunburst fruit cocktail. I must admit I felt a bit tipsy by my third glass, even though the waiter swore it contained no alcohol. So we set off, me in a straw hat, shoulder strap summer dress and bag. He wore his usual cotton hat, shirt, pants and sunglasses, what a pair of walking cash machines we must have looked. As it turned out, I was not far wrong, but not for the reasons anyone might think.
The bus was one of those shilling rides a twelve seater kitted out to sit twenty. The conductor, if you can call him that, mostly stayed outside swinging on the open side door, shouting at people as we went by. I was unlucky to sit next to a short fat African who took up more than his share of our bench and when the ticket boy sat down it was like a game of sardines in a hot smelly tin can of a bus.
At first I thought the African was asleep, head against the window. But as soon as we hit the first pot hole his hand fell down onto my knee. It didn’t matter how much I tried to push it away it always fell back, so eventually, and to John’s amusement, I let it stay. After nearly thirty five minutes of bouncing through every bump I was shocked to suddenly feel a sweaty hand on my thigh. Somehow my skirt had ridden up and it covered me no more than a mini skirt would. I squeezed John’s arm and his eyes rolled down to the Africans hand.
A grin spread across Johns face when he lent forward and caught a glimpse of my bikini. When he put his hand on my thigh I thought he was going to pull my skirt back down, but instead he gently pulled my knees apart. My eyes flew open when a set of thick knuckles brushed against my sex, for the next five minutes I telegraphed my finger fuck through twists and pulls on John’s arm, but he just kept smiling at me and pulling my legs open even more.
At the first stop I couldn’t get off the bus quickly enough, and found we had landed on a dusty shanty town street. I was about to ask a shopkeeper for directions when a short fat African grabbed me by my arm, twisted around my wrist and managed to find a pressure point. Every time I tried to resist, a sort of white hot pain, not unlike pins and needles made me go weak. So reluctantly I was forced to follow his directions, John followed after like a lost puppy.
Finally the African pulled me up in front of a battered steel door and nodded at john to open it, I glowered at him as I was pushed through. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, while the heat and smell of sex was oppressive. The African then pushed me over to the corner and placed me in front of an old mattress with my back to it. He then let go of my arm, and lifted up my skirt to admire his handy work and the bump stain on my bikini bottoms.
“Fuck!” I said embarrassed, and then hardened my tone to. “Who are you and what do you want?” The African raised his arms in a gesture of ‘guess where we are.’ The old mattress and used condoms gave it away. “A knocking shop,” I asked, already knowing the answer. “Yours?” He nodded.
The African then gave a deep bow “Mr. White, at your service.”
“Of course you are.” -Just so happens to be the darkest man I have ever seen is called White- He bowed again. “I’m leaving,” I huff.
“You’re free to go.” The African said with a flurry. For some reason that answer stumped me and I just stood there like a bimbo. He then nodded towards John “Your husband may have a different idea; I know how he likes to watch.”
With that my chin must have fallen to the floor and all of a sudden it hit me, “Did John set this up?” The African smiled. “But I’m ovulating, supposed to get pregnant, and take a baby back home,” I complained.
“Still can.” The African said while thrusting his hips back and forth. “A superior black baby, from a superior black fuck.”
Now my eyes must be as wide as my mouth and all I could do was glower at John. He just stood there with a childish grin and the biggest boner I had seen on him for weeks. When I looked back at the African he had taken off his manky T shirt and dropped his boxers. The turgid penis that pointed at me was enormous and those ball sacks were mesmerising. All I could think about was how many sons and daughters were in there. “No,” I said more to myself than him. He shrugged then shuffled forward and placed a hand on my chest. “I can’t,” I said having to stop myself reaching out and touching him.
“You know you want a superior black baby,” he said waggling his member at me. “Take off your bikini!” His voice hardened to an order, “Whore!”
I almost jumped, it would have been be so easy to comply and fall over backward legs spread. In a couple of minutes I would be pregnant with a black baby. I shook my head and he raised his other hand and started to air brushing around my tits, his finger getting closer with each circle.
“No,” I said
He rolled his eyes to John “Why not ask him,” he said not concealing his contempt. “He wants to see how a real man fucks you.”
That’s when it happened, whatever it was anger, shame, or resentment, I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and whispering “How many brothels do you own?” He splayed out a hand to indicate five. “If I am going to get fucked it should be like a whore,” I whispered. It felt like someone else had said it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
For some reason in this knocking shop, I felt like I had permission to experience something new, and that felt liberating. “This is what’s going to happen,” I said with a new found confidence. “I’m going over to my husband and if he takes off my bikini and places me back in front of you, you can fuck me like a whore. If you last less than ten minutes, it’s bye bye and I will take my chances.” The African nodded, and I was convinced his penis got even larger if that was possible.
Whatever else happened I hoped my husband wouldn’t want his wife to be fucked, never mind like a common whore. Either way I had a chance to get out from under the African. What happened afterword would be up to John. “Stay put,” I said to the African through a cheeky smile and slid past the mattress.
“You know the Global Bureau of Humanity has made abortions and contraception illegal, and the morning after pill,” I said to John “We can’t even get condoms any more.” John just looked at me and grinned. “You can’t be serious, I’m ovulating, if that,” I stammered and pointed at the African, “Mr. White fucks me, I’m likely to have his child,” I whispered into his ear.
“Superior black baby,” the African said, loudly.
Slowly John pulled me in to him and we started to embrace. “Let’s get out of here,” I sighed with relief. John put his arms around me in what I thought were going to be a tender hug. Instead he reached behind and undid the bow on my bikini top. My breasts fell free as he pulled the material away. “You serious!” I said shocked and then, “Stop,” as a set of thumbs hooked into the string on my bikini bottoms. “Wait, what. You want him to fuck me?” John’s grin widened, and I looked at him sideways, with my best ‘don’t you dare’ scowl.
For whatever reason a heat started to rise from within, it was like anger and loathing all mixed up in an aphrodisiac cocktail. “You do this,” I threaten, “and I will go over there spread my legs and you can watch an African fuck your wife like a common whore.” John just smiled, so to dare him, I stood up straight to make my bikini easer to slide down.
Most people don’t have that moment when their life changes. It was like being in a car crash, one minute you were on a bit of icy road and then the next. Everything goes sideways and you find yourself tumbling through the air as the ground rushes up.
I didn’t hit the dry dirt of this knocking shop but my bikini bottoms did. That was it, without looking at John I sauntered over to the African, hips swinging like I imagined a whore would. “No kissing, no foreplay. Just straight up animal fucking,” I said to the African. He nodded and I moved into position.
Like in a slow motion movie a hand came up and pushed me over. I fell backwards on the mattress half winded but remembered I was now a whore and let my legs fall wide open. The African moved in over me like a dark cloud, his great black bulk about to rain hellfire down on me. I almost didn’t feel my feet go to his shoulders as he moved forward, and a large black cock lined its self up with my open sex.
“Open your mouth.” The African ordered. I looked at him confused. I heard the slap before I felt it. “Open your mouth whore,” he shouted. The next slap sent water to my eyes and confusion through my brain. He waited long enough for it to pass and drew my attention to his raised hand ready to strike again. “Open your mouth, you useless cunt.” Almost in a daze I compiled “keep it open.” He demanded.
In one easy movement he placed my feet underneath my arms and pinned my wrists to the mattress with his hands, leaving me helpless and completely at his mercy. He then looked down and I lifted my head and watched him line up his cock with my now completely exposed sex.
“Look at me,” he ordered, “Mouth open.” I complied. At exactly the same time that he spat in my mouth he plunged his cock balls deep into me. The shock and double violation sent a surge of electricity through me, not unlike being hit with a Taser. His smile was triumphant, a malevolent black-toothed grin. He let my situation sink in and enjoyed it even more as I tried to resist. Then slowly he withdrew his cock and then pushed it back in. With each consecutive thrust he got faster and to my dismay my body started to respond. I closed my eyes. All of a sudden he stopped. “Look at me,” he scolded, “Whores look at their johns as they fuck them.” I really didn’t want to; with eyes closed I could imagine my husband in one of his more aroused moments.
The slap came from nowhere but I was still pinned under a smelly black African who was pounding me. “You get to watch me fuck your white useless cunt as I put a superior black baby in your box,” he sneered, “Like all good whores should.” And he then thrust into me with all his weight, sending his cock deep inside and forcing the air out of my lungs in a reflexive grunt.
I don’t know how long it went on for, with deep penetrating thrusts that pushed my whole body into the mattress and squashed my tits against his chest. But my cunt was starting to get sore and the lack of breath sent a gagging response through my body. All I wanted was for him to stop, so I lay there shaking my head, in a ‘no’ gesture. All he did was laugh and started to fuck me faster and harder.
“Please stop,” I gasped.
The African looked at me and smiled, “Only after you ask me to put a baby in you.” I shook my head and then he started to pound me even harder. I just lay there shaking my head while he pounded into me. “Ask me,” he shouted while he rammed his cock in faster. I shook my head. It seemed like hours I lay there, but it must have been only seconds or a minute at most. “I’m going to cum in you anyway,” he whispered. “If you want me to stop, beg me to breed you.” I could feel him tense and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my surrender. But he kept going sending spasm after spasm through my body, until if felt like my brain would explode.
“Please cum in me,” I whispered.
“Louder,” he shouted. “Ask my like the useless white cunt you are!”
“Please Mr. White, put your superior black baby in my useless whore box,” I say, yielding at last.
With that he tensed and gave a loud groan, collapsing on me. It felt like an eternity before he finally rolled off. I just lay there panting and looking up at the polycarbonate sheet above my head. I couldn’t help but wonder how many whores had laid here; legs wide open with the sperm of a complete stranger running down the crack of her ass.
It took me some time before I could focus on the friendly hand that was offered to me. I took it and my husband lifted me up with an enormous grin on his face. He handed me my bikini and then my dress. I slipped the dress over my naked body and threw the bikini at the African. “A memento of the first and last time you fuck this white whore’s box,” I said and put my arm around John. “Time for a bit if loving wife cunt,” I said to my husband, “take me home and fuck my brains out.”
The African sat up and looked at me “When you go black…,” he said with a smirk, not finishing his sentence. “You’ll be back, Pandora, that’s your name is it not?” I put my bag over my shoulder and headed for the door. “As far as big black cock goes Pandora’s Box will always be open,” he shouted before the door close.