Wife’s addiction to Big Black Cock

I found myself in a gas station, when I spotted him. Directly across from me, as I pumped fuel into my Accord, he was pumping diesel into his truck. I hoped he’d soon be pumping me. He was tall, handsome and dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt that showed off in muscular arms. He was a black male, which was the real attraction for me. I’m sure most readers know what the term BBC means, but just in case a few don’t, it stands for Big Black Cock. It looked like he had it and I wanted all of it. At that time, I couldn’t get enough.

I wasn’t dressed up that day, but I had on a pair of shorts and as I smiled at him across the lane, he grinned back and looked over my legs, which I posed in a way that he could get a good solid view. I flipped my strawberry blond hair and licked my lips, as I hoped he’d figure a clever opening line.

After he put the pump nozzle away, he approached. I was excited; I was about to be picked up at a service station; that would be a first. I eagerly awaited his come-on banter.

“You need any help with that?”

Looking back, I’d have to rate that line as better than nothing, but it was good enough to initiate our opening dialog.

“Thanks. But I’ve got this covered.” He looked dejected. I was only toying with him. “Where you could help me out is figuring how large that cock of yours is.”

“Damn, I like a woman that goes straight to it. I’ve got a full ten inches.”

“I live a couple miles from here. I’d need to verify what you’re told me.”

He followed me home and within minutes was in my bed, running his hands all over me. Without a measuring tape, I can’t say that it was exactly ten inches, but he was very close. He had shaved his pubic hair, so his cock looked even larger.

My shorts and blouse were tossed onto the floor. I rarely bother with underwear unless I’m purposely trying to be seductive, so I presented myself to him naked. I pulled off his trousers and began kissing the tip of his penis.

“I didn’t get your name. I’m Michael.”

Due to my excitement at finding BBC, I had not thought to exchange names. It nearly took me out of the moment when I introduced myself. “I’m Shannon. I love your cock.” To prevent further unwanted conversation, I swallowed his penis, jamming the stiff sausage as far into my throat as possible. I didn’t manage to immerse all of it, but he was impressed by my ability.

“Oh, yeah, baby. That’s what I wanted when I first laid eyes on you.”

It didn’t take long for me to see that he was prepared for the main event. I disengaged him from my mouth and pushed him back on the bed. I climbed on top and he guided it inside me. I bounded in a rhythmic movement as it rubbed against my clit. I wanted to get in at least two good solid orgasms before he had his and I worked my ass as hard as I could manage.

“What the hell is going on here?” came a familiar voice instantly sending me crashing to earth. I turned my head, as I bopped impaled upon this other man’s stiffness, and to my very horror, there stood my husband in the doorway.

He shouted at me and the rest of the incident seemed to go by in a slow motion nightmare. I remember getting off of Michael and trying to cover my naked body. I recall Michael, say something along the lines of, “Look man, I didn’t know the bitch was married.” Maybe he used the word slut or scank, I’m not sure. Thankfully, he didn’t try to fight my husband, Tony. Even though Michael was a powerful looking dude, Tony could have kicked his ass easily. He’d been in Special Forces in Afghanistan and Iraq, before leaving the military and he could take care of himself. Michael dressed quickly and ran from our house. By the commotion, several neighbors saw a half-naked black male running from our home. My reputation would never be the same in that community.

“Shannon, where the fuck are the kids.”

I mumbled something about them still being at school and asked what he was doing home. He was supposed to be on a business trip. He said he’d wrapped things up early and came home early to surprise me. Oh, I was surprised alright.

“I swear this has never happened before, baby. I don’t know what got into me.” I was starting to cry and I felt desperate. I didn’t want to lose Tony.

“You’re lying. I’ve seen pictures on your cell phone of you with another black guy.”

My stomach turned over. I’d taken a few shots of another man I’d met a couple months ago. We’d had sex a few times. I’d let him take a few more snaps us together with my phone so I could remember him. I was too stupid to delete them immediately. Now I was a liar, in addition to being an adulteress.

There was only one thing I could do at that point. I confessed to my philandering; all of it. I told him about the other black man I’d had sex with a year before. It’d gone off and on for a couple of months behind my husband’s back.

I’d first tried BBC in college, a lot of girls do as part of experimenting. It was for the thrill of it. I was that pale Irish-American white girl and it was a high I’d never experienced, fucking someone from a different race and socio-economic background. After my first experience, I was a secret addict of the black snake. My relationships were always with the white guys, but in the background, I craved the dark meat.

For me, sex with a black man was nearly a completely different practice than with a white man. It was almost like making love with another girl. There was an organism, but it just felt different and wasn’t completely comparable.

Tony and I fought for the next hour. I tried to defend myself and explain my craving for the allure of BBC, but I knew my actions were inexcusable. In the end, Tony stormed out and we didn’t speak for a week. I wondered if our family would fall apart and I’d be the blame for it all.

The neighborhood gossips went into full gear. In the supermarket, I’d see women and a few men point at me and whisper behind my back before turning away from my view. We lived in a small town and it was a tight knit community. I might as well have cut out the letter “A” from red cloth and sewn it onto all of my clothing.

On a Thursday evening, a call came from Tony on my cell. I swallowed deeply with fear as I answered the phone. He could be wind up asking for a divorce; I wouldn’t have blamed him.

He started out by reassuring me that he still loved me and he wanted to work things out. “I’ve found some specialized marriage counselors; would you be willing to go?”

“How soon can we start?” I fought back tears of relief. I vowed to do whatever it took to save our marriage.

One week later, I was told the main element would involve my being completely honest. The counselors were a pair; a man and woman. Over the course of the next two weeks, the focus on our problems turned more and more upon me. In private, I detailed my longing of black cock and the thrill it produced in me.

Finally, the question came that I’d been dreading after weeks of the therapy. “If you reunited with Tony, would you be able to stop having sex with black men?”

The answer came to me immediately, but I was hesitant to say it, especially in front of my husband. “No, I don’t feel I can. It’s like a drug to me. The longer I go without sex with a black man, the more I want it.”

That honesty would most likely cost me my marriage. Still, Tony deserved the truth. I waited to see what the counselors would have to say.

Mary, the woman therapist, spoke first, “We anticipated that answer.” She was an older woman, but still very eloquent and stylish in her appearance. “The need for black penis can be highly addictive for many women. I, myself, was in its grip for several years.”

Her partner, Hank, added in, “While there’s no technical psychiatric term for the condition, it’s sometimes called White Chick for Black Cock Slutism or WCBCS. It more common than most people realize.”

“Is there anything I can do to break the cycle of my desire for BBC?”

“Yes, it is a type of Cognitive Behavior Therapy. Much like some anti-smoking programs, rather than trying to stop all together, instead the patient engages in a massive dose of the habit, so much so, that they can’t stand to do it anymore.”

“So, Shannon, would need to have a large amount of sex sessions with black men to cure her of her need for BBC?” Tony asked, as he lovingly held my hand.

“Yes, your wife is strongly drawn to the endorphins produced by having enormous black cocks placed into her vagina.” Mary spoke in a soothing tone. “Only by overloading this impulse, can she finally control those desires.”

“The question for you, Tony, is can you be supported for your wife’s need for this kind of treatment?” asked Hank.

To my everlasting admiration, Tony squeezed my hand and said, “Yes, Doctors, I’ll do whatever it takes to help Shannon overcome her compulsion for BBC.”

They explained it would take many months of finding black men to fuck me. At the very least, a hundred African American men would be required and the lowest dose would be three or more per week.

My treatment began that very evening. Tony picked out a sexy short skirt and red strapless tube top for me. I had to wear panties under the skirt and in the five-inch pumps I looked the part of a slut on the prowl. We hit a bar in town where there would be plenty of black men and I positioned myself on a bar stool with my legs crossed.

It didn’t take long before a handsome man with a dark mustache slid up next to me and offered to buy me a drink. My normal inclination to the offer would have been to say something along the lines of, “I’d rather take a sip of what you have in your pants,” but I was trying to see black men as something other than a piece of highly desirable sexual chocolate.

Instead, I let him buy me that drink and we made actual conversation. He introduced himself as Sam. It turned out he was heavily into sports. Apparently, a lot of black men are; who knew? I always thought professional sports are kind of boring; a lot like some woman telling a man about the finer points of selecting the best handbag. He was nearly as boring as any white guy. Still, I wanted that cock of his inside me.

“Would you mind if my husband watches us? It’s a part of my therapy.”

“Oh, you must suffer from WCBCS. Sure, I’ve helped a lot of women out with that.”

He followed us home and Tony sat in a comfortable chair in our guest room watching as I was stripped out of my top and little skirt. It didn’t require a lot of head work to bring Sam to full attention and I soon removed my panties and mounted him, with nothing else on but my heels.

Whenever I’m being fucked by BBC, I cure worse than a sailor and this time was no exception. I’m sure it freaked Sam out a bit to see a diminutive white girl spew the most filthy words imaginable from her whorish mouth, but I’ve always done that. Tony was shocked too, but I could see he was becoming very excited by witnessing this side of me.

I came in a massive explosion and watched as Sam continued bucking away at me before he came.

He dressed and thanked us for an interesting evening, saying he was completely drained.

“You don’t have any friends you could call to come over tonight, do you? I can tell Shannon still needs more therapy to overwhelm her BBC desire for the night.”

Sam shook Tony’s hand and said in a very understanding tone, “You must love your woman very deeply to care so much about her well-being. I’ve got a couple friends I can bring in. One’s married, but if he explains it to his wife that it to help out a BBC hooked white woman, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

An hour later, Phil showed up. His wife Kimberly insisted on coming along. “I’ve got to see this whole thing to believe it,” she said as she pulled up a chair beside Tony’s.

Phil started out by licking my dripping snatch. I’d told him that I’d cleanup up after Sam had left, but that was a bit of a lie. I didn’t wait to achieve an organism, but instead mounted Phil’s rod. His cock was quite long and thick and it took work to ride it to its fullest capability.

As I bounced up and down, I overhead Kimberly say, “Come on, bitch, work that ass. Don’t be just moving up and down, like you’re on some elevator. Shake that bootie.”

I twerked as best as I possibly could on his erection for the next half hour. At one point, Tony made popcorn that he and Kimberly shared. Even though I had ample opportunity to climax, I never managed it before Phil shot his jizz into me. This was the first time I’d been fucked by a BBC that I hadn’t come. I could see my therapy was beginning to work.

“See, baby, I fucked her brains out and the bitch didn’t come even once,” Phil proudly announced to his wife.

As they left I overheard her say, “I still don’t see what the big deal is. You haven’t produced an orgasm in me for months either.”

There was one more black man that night that dropped by. He not only fucked my pussy, but rammed his giant cock into my ass. He came once in each hole, but still I didn’t suffer a single climax.

I would have taken on Tony that night, but I was too sore. It took me three days to recover and I had multiple orgasms from his Normal Sized White Cock or NSWC.

I’m now six months into my recovery. I generally take on three or four BBCs over a weekend and my Big O’s derived from BBC have become less intense and more infrequent, but I know that I’ll have to be ever vigilant in my quest for relief from the throes of WCBCS. I am fortunate to have a supportive and understanding husband.

I’d also like to say that WCBCS is a real affliction, but is still a highly misunderstood disease. There are altruistic foundations being formed to help those of us afflicted this dreaded malady and I hope that white men will donate money to this worthy charity.

As for black men, you can help too. When a white chick asks you for a good solid schtuping, it could be that she is suffering from my same dependence on BBC. It isn’t enough to just do her yourself, you need to invite as many of your fellow BBC capable associates as possible to help this poor woman out.

By :Krystal0690

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