The Bull's Reckoning: A Tale of Married Submission

The first time Marcus saw the video, he thought he was having a heart attack. His chest tightened, his vision blurred at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead despite the air-conditioned comfort of his home office. The email had come from an anonymous address—darktruth847@protonmail.com—with a subject line that read simply: "Your Wife Is a Size Queen."

He shouldn't have clicked it. God, he shouldn't have clicked it.

But he did. And now, at 2:47 PM on a Thursday afternoon, Marcus Chen's entire world was crumbling around him as he watched his beautiful, elegant wife of eight years—his Emily, the woman he'd met at Stanford Business School, the mother of his two children—on her knees in what appeared to be a hotel room, her wedding ring glinting in the harsh fluorescent light as her small, manicured hands stroked the most enormous cock Marcus had ever seen.

"Holy fucking shit," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The cock was black. Of course it was black. It was thick and veined and impossibly long—easily ten inches, maybe more—and Emily was worshipping it like it was a religious artifact. Her pink tongue darted out, licking the precum that beaded at the tip, and Marcus could see the hunger in her eyes even through the screen. This wasn't the Emily he knew. This wasn't the demure, sophisticated woman who hosted dinner parties and volunteered at the PTA. This was a cock-hungry slut, desperate for the kind of penetration that her husband could never provide.

Marcus was average. Five and a half inches on a good day. He'd always thought it was enough—Emily had never complained, had always seemed satisfied, had even told him early in their relationship that "size doesn't matter, it's how you use it." What a fucking joke. What a pathetic, humiliating joke.

On screen, Emily opened her mouth wide and tried to take the massive shaft between her lips. She could barely fit the head. Her jaw was stretched to its absolute limit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to accommodate the girth. The man attached to this monstrous cock—a muscular Black man with tattoos covering his chest and arms—laughed and gripped her hair, forcing her down further.

"That's it, you married white bitch," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "Take that big Black dick. Show your husband what you've been missing."

Emily moaned around the shaft, the sound muffled but unmistakably desperate. She pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the dark, throbbing meat. "Oh god, it's so fucking big," she whimpered, her voice breathy and high-pitched. "So much bigger than my husband. He could never fill me like this."

Marcus's hand shook as he gripped the mouse, his knuckles white. He should close the video. He should delete it, should confront Emily, should do something—anything—other than keep watching. But he couldn't look away. Something dark and twisted was stirring in his gut, a mixture of rage and humiliation and, mortifyingly, arousal.

The video continued. The man—Marcus would later learn his name was Darnell, a personal trainer at the upscale gym where Emily had been "working out" three times a week for the past six months—pulled Emily to her feet and bent her over the edge of the hotel bed. Her wedding ring caught the light again as she reached back to spread her ass cheeks, offering herself completely to this superior male.

"Please," she begged, her voice trembling with need. "Please fuck me with that huge Black cock. I need it so bad. My husband's little dick doesn't satisfy me anymore."

"Your husband's a bitch," Darnell said, positioning himself behind her. "Ain't that right? You married a little-dick bitch who can't make you cum."

"Yes," Emily moaned, pushing her hips back in desperation. "Yes, he's a bitch. I'm sorry, baby, but I need real cock. I need a big Black bull to stretch my married pussy."

When Darnell entered her, Emily screamed. It wasn't a scream of pain—it was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth fell open, and she pushed back against him with an urgency that Marcus had never seen in their eight years of marriage. Darnell gripped her hips and began to thrust, each stroke sending shockwaves through Emily's body, her breasts bouncing with the force of his movements.

"Fuck, you're tight," Darnell grunted. "Tight little cheating wife pussy. Your husband ever stretch you out like this?"

"Never," Emily gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets. "Never, never, never. He's too small. Oh god, you're hitting places he's never touched. You're so deep, so fucking deep!"

Marcus watched, transfixed and horrified, as his wife was transformed into a quivering, orgasmic mess. Darnell pounded her relentlessly, his heavy balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. Within minutes, Emily was cumming—hard, convulsing, squirting all over the bed in a way she'd never done with Marcus. She screamed Darnell's name, begged him not to stop, promised him anything he wanted if he would just keep fucking her with that magnificent Black cock.

"Gonna breed you," Darnell announced, his thrusts becoming erratic, more forceful. "Gonna fill this married pussy with my superior Black seed. You want that, you cheating slut? You want me to knock you up with my big dick cum?"

"Yes!" Emily shrieked, her body shaking with another orgasm. "Yes, please, cum inside me! Fill my cheating wife pussy! I need your Black cum, I need it so bad! Breed me, please, breed this married white pussy!"

Darnell roared as he buried himself to the hilt, his muscular body tensing as he emptied his balls deep inside Marcus's wife. Marcus could see the base of Darnell's shaft pulsing, could see Emily's pussy lips stretched obscenely around the massive intrusion, could see the moment when Darnell pulled out and a torrent of thick, white cum gushed from her gaping, well-fucked hole.

Emily collapsed onto the bed, her body covered in sweat, her hair a wild mess, her pussy leaking another man's seed onto the sheets. She looked delirious with pleasure, utterly satisfied in a way that Marcus had never been able to achieve.

"Best pussy I've had all week," Darnell said, slapping her ass as he stood up. "Same time next Tuesday?"

"Yes," Emily mumbled, barely conscious. "Every Tuesday. And Thursday. And whenever you want. I'm yours, Darnell. This pussy belongs to your big Black cock now."

The video ended. Marcus sat in silence, his heart hammering against his ribs, his mouth dry as sand. He looked down and realized, with sickening shame, that he had an erection straining against his dress pants. His cock was hard—painfully hard—from watching his wife get fucked by a superior Black man.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Emily came home at 6:30 PM, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, her hair still damp from the shower she'd taken after her "workout." She looked radiant—glowing, even—and Marcus realized with a sinking heart that it was the afterglow of incredible sex. She'd been freshly fucked by Darnell's massive cock just hours ago, and now she was coming home to play the role of dutiful wife and mother.

"Hey, honey," she said, setting down her bag and crossing the kitchen to kiss his cheek. "How was your day?"

Marcus stared at her. Really looked at her. He saw the slight redness around her lips—evidence of rough kissing, of having her mouth stretched around a cock far too large for her. He saw the way she walked, slightly bow-legged, her thighs no doubt sore from being spread wide and pounded mercilessly. He saw the satisfaction in her eyes, the secret knowledge that she was getting something her husband could never provide.

"Marcus?" Emily tilted her head, concerned. "You okay? You look pale."

"I got an email today," Marcus said, his voice sounding strange and distant to his own ears. "Anonymous. Had a video attached."

Emily's face went white. She knew. He could see it in her eyes—the flash of panic, the quick calculation of how much he knew, whether she could deny it, what her options were.

"Marcus, I—"

"Don't," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "Just... don't. I watched the whole thing, Emily. I saw everything. I heard everything. I know about Darnell. I know about your 'workouts.' I know that you've been fucking a Black man with a cock twice the size of mine for the past six months."

Emily's mouth opened and closed. She looked like a fish gasping for air. Then, to Marcus's surprise, she didn't cry. She didn't beg for forgiveness or make excuses. Instead, she straightened her spine and looked him directly in the eye.

"Are you going to divorce me?" she asked, her voice steady.

"I... I don't know," Marcus admitted. The truth was, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd been too consumed by the video, by the images that were now permanently burned into his brain. "I should. Any man with self-respect would."

Emily nodded slowly. "You're right. You should divorce me. I've been a terrible wife, Marcus. I've betrayed you, humiliated you, let another man breed my pussy while you were at work supporting our family." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But before you make any decisions, I think you should know the whole truth."

"The whole truth?" Marcus laughed bitterly. "What, there's more? You've been gangbanged? You're running a brothel out of the gym?"

"I've been recording everything," Emily said quietly. "Every time I'm with Darnell. I have hours of footage. And Marcus... I want you to watch it. All of it."

Marcus stared at her, stunned. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because," Emily said, reaching out to touch his chest, her fingers trailing down to his stomach, "I think you liked what you saw. I think you're hard right now, thinking about your wife getting stretched out by a superior Black cock. I think the idea of me being a size queen, of me needing more than you can give, turns you on in ways you don't understand."

Her hand found his erection through his pants, and she smiled—a knowing, wicked smile that Marcus had never seen before.

"You're hard as a rock," she whispered. "You want to see more, don't you? You want to see exactly how your wife has been transformed into a Black cock slut. You want to see what a real man does to me."

Marcus should have pushed her away. He should have called a lawyer, packed her bags, done anything other than stand there and let her unbutton his pants. But he didn't. He stood frozen as Emily dropped to her knees in their kitchen—their children's artwork still hanging on the refrigerator above her head—and pulled out his throbbing, average-sized cock.

"Look at this," she said, holding his shaft in one hand while she pulled out her phone with the other. "Look at the difference, Marcus. Look at what I've been getting instead of this."

She showed him a photo—Darnell's massive Black cock, fully erect and glistening, held next to a water bottle for scale. It was easily three times the girth of Marcus's cock, and probably twice as long. The comparison was devastating.

"That's what I need," Emily said, stroking Marcus's cock with her free hand. "That's what makes me cum until I see stars. Your little dick is nice, honey. It's cute. But it doesn't satisfy me. It never has."

"Emily, please—" Marcus groaned, humiliation and arousal warring within him.

"Shh," she soothed, increasing her pace. "It's okay to admit it. You like knowing I'm getting fucked properly. You like knowing that while you're crunching numbers at your accounting firm, your wife is being pounded into submission by a real man. Don't you?"

Marcus couldn't speak. He could only nod, his face burning with shame, as Emily brought him to the edge with her hand.

"Say it," she commanded. "Say you want me to keep fucking him. Say you want me to be Darnell's Black cock whore."

"I... I want you to keep fucking him," Marcus whispered, the words tasting like ash and honey. "I want you to be his whore."

Emily smiled triumphantly and squeezed his cock harder. "Good boy. Now cum for me. Cum while you think about your wife's stretched pussy full of Black seed."

Marcus came with a strangled cry, his hips bucking as he spurted onto the kitchen floor. It was the most intense orgasm he'd had in years—maybe ever—and Emily milked him dry, her eyes locked on his, her expression one of pure dominance.

"That's my little cuckold," she cooed, standing up and leaving him panting against the counter. "Clean up your mess. I'm going to shower—Darnell's cum is still leaking out of me, and I want to be fresh for when he comes over tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?" Marcus gasped. "He's coming here? To our house?"

"Of course," Emily said, already walking toward the stairs. "Where else would he fuck me? The bed you paid for seems appropriate, don't you think? Oh, and Marcus? You'll be watching. In person this time. I want you to see exactly how a real man handles your wife."

Friday night arrived with agonizing slowness. Marcus had spent the past twenty-four hours in a state of heightened arousal and crushing anxiety, unable to focus on work, unable to eat, unable to do anything but replay the video in his mind and imagine what was coming.

Emily had been preparing all day. She'd gone to the salon for a Brazilian wax, had her nails done in a fresh coat of red polish, and spent two hours trying on lingerie combinations before settling on a sheer black babydoll that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her breasts—full and heavy, larger since she'd had their second child—spilled out of the lace cups, her nipples hard and dark against the fabric. The matching thong was so tiny it was practically a string, and Marcus could see that she was already wet, her arousal evident even from across the room.

"You look beautiful," he said quietly, standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

"I look fuckable," Emily corrected, applying another coat of lip gloss in the mirror. "There's a difference. I want Darnell to take one look at me and know that he can use me however he wants. I want him to know that this married pussy is his for the taking."

The doorbell rang at exactly 8:00 PM. Emily's eyes lit up with excitement, and she practically ran downstairs, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Marcus followed more slowly, his stomach churning with a mixture of dread and perverse anticipation.

Darnell was even more imposing in person than he'd been on video. He stood at least six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and a muscular build that spoke of hours in the gym. He was wearing dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt that showed off his tattooed arms, and when he smiled at Emily, Marcus saw the easy confidence of a man who knew he was sexually superior.

"There's my favorite snowbunny," Darnell said, pulling Emily into his arms and kissing her deeply, his large hands immediately finding her ass and squeezing hard. "You ready for this big dick tonight?"

"So ready," Emily breathed when they broke apart, her face flushed. "I've been thinking about it all day. I didn't even let Marcus fuck me this week—I wanted to be tight for you."

Darnell laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "That's what I like to hear. Where's your husband?"

"Right here," Marcus said, stepping into view.

Darnell turned to look at him, his expression assessing and vaguely amused. Marcus felt himself shrink under that gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of his own average height, his soft middle, his completely ordinary appearance. Next to Darnell, he looked like exactly what he was: a beta male who couldn't satisfy his wife.

"So you're the cuck," Darnell said, not unkindly. "Emily told me you watched the video. Told me you jerked off to it. That true?"

Marcus's face burned. "I... yes. I did."

"Figures." Darnell shrugged. "Most white boys with little dicks end up getting off on this shit once they find out. You ready to watch me stretch your wife out? Ready to see what she looks like when she's actually getting fucked proper?"

Marcus nodded, unable to speak.

"Good. Come on, Emily. Bedroom. I want you naked and on your knees in thirty seconds."

Emily practically dragged Darnell up the stairs, leaving Marcus to follow. By the time he reached the bedroom, Emily was already naked, her lingerie discarded on the floor, and Darnell was sitting on the edge of the bed with his pants unzipped. His cock wasn't even fully hard yet, and it was still bigger than Marcus's maximum erection—thick and heavy, resting against his thigh like a weapon.

"Look at it," Emily said to Marcus, her voice worshipful. "Look at how big it is even soft. It's bigger than you hard, isn't it, honey?"

"Yes," Marcus whispered.

"Get over here and watch up close," Darnell commanded. "I want you to see your wife's mouth get stretched."

Marcus moved to the chair Emily had positioned in the corner—the "cuckold chair," she'd called it earlier—and sat down. He was close enough to see everything, to smell the musk of Darnell's arousal and hear every wet sound as Emily took that massive shaft into her mouth.

She started slowly, licking the length of it, worshipping it with her tongue, murmuring praises about its size and weight and beauty. Darnell let her work, his head thrown back in pleasure, one hand resting on her head to guide her movements.

"That's it, you married slut," he groaned. "Get it nice and wet. Get it ready for that pussy."

Emily moaned around him, taking more and more of his length into her mouth. Marcus watched, mesmerized, as her throat bulged with the effort, as tears streamed down her face, as she fought to accommodate a cock that was clearly too large for her. It was obscene. It was degrading. It was the most erotic thing Marcus had ever seen.

"You like watching your wife choke on Black dick?" Darnell asked, opening his eyes to look at Marcus. "You like seeing her struggle?"

"Yes," Marcus admitted, his own cock hard in his pants despite his humiliation.

"Good. Because I'm about to ruin her."

Darnell stood up, pulling Emily off his cock with a wet pop. He lifted her easily—effortlessly—and threw her onto the bed, her legs spreading automatically. He climbed between them, positioning himself at her entrance, and looked back at Marcus one more time.

"Watch closely, little man," he said. "Watch what your wife's face looks like when she gets what she really needs."

He pushed inside.

Emily's reaction was instantaneous and explosive. Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream, her hands clawing at Darnell's back. Her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, and she began to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," she chanted, her voice high and broken. "It's so big, it's so fucking big, you're splitting me open, oh my god, oh my god!"

"That's it," Darnell grunted, working himself deeper with short, forceful thrusts. "Take that Black dick. Take all of it, you cheating slut. This is what you've been missing, isn't it? This is what your husband can't give you."

"Yes!" Emily screamed as Darnell bottomed out, his heavy balls resting against her ass. "Yes, yes, yes! It's so deep, you're so deep, no one's ever been this deep, oh god, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum already!"

She did. Hard. Her body convulsed, her pussy clamping down on Darnell's invading shaft, her juices flooding out around him. Marcus watched from his chair, his hand unconsciously stroking his own cock through his pants, as his wife experienced an orgasm that he'd never been able to give her—an orgasm triggered by sheer size, by being filled and stretched in ways that his average cock simply couldn't achieve.

And Darnell didn't stop. He kept fucking her, kept pounding into her with relentless force, making her cum again and again until she was a babbling, incoherent mess. The bed was shaking, the headboard slamming against the wall, and Emily was screaming loud enough that Marcus was glad they'd sent the kids to his mother's house for the weekend.

"Please," Emily begged after her fourth or fifth orgasm, her voice hoarse. "Please, Darnell, I can't take anymore, it's too much, you're gonna break me!"

"Shut up and take it," Darnell commanded, flipping her over and pulling her up onto her hands and knees. "I'm not done with this pussy yet. Look at your husband. Look at him while I destroy you."

Emily turned her head, her eyes glazed with pleasure, and locked gazes with Marcus. "He's fucking me so good, baby," she slurred, her voice drunk on cock. "He's hitting my cervix, he's stretching me out, I'm never gonna feel you again after this, I'm ruined for white dick, I'm only gonna want Black cock from now on!"

"That's right," Darnell agreed, slamming into her from behind, his heavy balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. "This pussy belongs to me now. You're my Black cock whore, Emily. Say it."

"I'm your Black cock whore!" Emily screamed, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with desperate enthusiasm. "I belong to your big Black dick! Breed me, please, fill me with your superior Black cum, I need it, I need it so bad!"

Darnell roared and buried himself to the hilt, his muscular body tensing as he emptied his balls deep inside Marcus's wife. Marcus could see the base of Darnell's shaft pulsing, could see Emily's pussy lips stretched obscenely around the massive intrusion, could see the moment when Darnell pulled out and a torrent of thick, white cum gushed from her gaping, well-fucked hole.

Emily collapsed onto the bed, her body covered in sweat, her hair a wild mess, her pussy leaking another man's seed onto the sheets. She looked delirious with pleasure, utterly satisfied in a way that Marcus had never been able to achieve.

"Best pussy I've had all week," Darnell said, slapping her ass as he stood up. "Same time next Tuesday?"

"Yes," Emily mumbled, barely conscious. "Every Tuesday. And Thursday. And whenever you want. I'm yours, Darnell. This pussy belongs to your big Black cock now."

That first night changed everything. Marcus had expected to feel devastated, emasculated, ready to end the marriage. Instead, he'd cum in his pants without even touching himself, spurting helplessly as he watched Darnell breed his wife. The shame of that—the knowledge that he was so aroused by his own humiliation—had kept him up for hours after Darnell left, staring at the ceiling while Emily slept beside him, her pussy still full of another man's cum.

In the weeks that followed, a new routine established itself. Darnell came over twice a week—Tuesdays and Thursdays, just like in the video—and Marcus watched from his corner chair as his wife was transformed into a quivering, orgasmic mess. Sometimes Darnell would let Marcus participate in small ways—holding Emily's legs open, cleaning Darnell's cock with his mouth before and after fucking her, licking the cum out of her pussy when they were finished.

That last task had become Marcus's favorite, much to his own confusion. The first time Darnell ordered him to do it—"Clean your wife up, cuck. Get every drop of my superior seed"—Marcus had balked, horrified at the idea. But Emily had begged him, her eyes glazed with post-orgasmic bliss, and he'd found himself moving between her legs, his tongue darting out to taste the mixture of her juices and Darnell's thick cum.

It had been intoxicating. The taste, the texture, the sheer degradation of it—Marcus had licked her clean with desperate enthusiasm, and when he'd finished, his own cock had been harder than ever. Darnell had laughed at him, called him a "cum-hungry little bitch," and Marcus had accepted the label with a strange sense of pride.

Now, two months into their new arrangement, Marcus had fully embraced his role as a cuckold. He'd even started helping Emily prepare for her dates with Darnell—drawing her baths, helping her pick out lingerie, shaving her pussy smooth so that Darnell would have easy access. He'd become an active participant in his own emasculation, and he couldn't imagine going back to the way things had been.

"Do you think he'll want to try anal tonight?" Emily asked one Thursday evening, standing in front of the mirror in a sheer white teddy that left her nipples visible. "He's been hinting at it."

Marcus felt a familiar twist in his stomach—jealousy mixed with arousal. "I think he'd like that," he said carefully. "You've never done that with me."

"Because you're too big for my first time," Emily said, not unkindly. "Darnell's cock is actually better for anal—it's so big that it stretches me out properly, but the head is smooth and rounded. Your cock has that ridge, remember? It would hurt too much."

Marcus nodded, accepting her explanation even as it wounded him. "Do you want me to get the lube ready?"

"Please. And put on your cage."

Marcus's chastity cage was a recent addition—another of Darnell's suggestions. It was a small, pink plastic device that locked around Marcus's cock and balls, preventing him from getting fully erect or achieving orgasm without the key. Emily wore the key on a chain around her neck, and she only unlocked him on rare occasions, usually when she wanted to watch him masturbate while describing her encounters with Darnell.

Marcus went to the drawer and retrieved the cage, fitting it around his already-hardening cock with practiced ease. He snapped the lock shut and held out the key to Emily, who took it with a smile and fastened it around her neck.

"Good boy," she said, patting his cheek. "Now go get the bedroom ready. I want candles, fresh sheets, and the camera set up. Darnell likes to record our sessions for his personal collection."

Marcus did as he was told, transforming their bedroom into a romantic boudoir that would soon be the site of his wife's debasement. He lit scented candles, spread rose petals on the bed, and set up the tripod with the high-definition camera that Darnell had purchased. Everything was ready by the time the doorbell rang.

Darnell was in a dominant mood that night. He barely acknowledged Marcus beyond a nod, his attention entirely focused on Emily. He kissed her deeply in the entryway, his hands roaming over her body, and within minutes he had her pressed against the wall with her legs wrapped around his waist, grinding against him.

"Can't even wait for the bedroom?" Emily laughed breathlessly.

"Been thinking about this pussy all day," Darnell growled. "Need to be inside you."

They made it to the bedroom, but just barely. Darnell threw Emily onto the bed and stripped off his clothes with efficient movements, revealing his magnificent body—the body that Marcus could never hope to achieve no matter how many hours he spent at the gym. His cock was already hard, thick and dark and veined, standing proudly against his stomach.

"Look at that," Emily breathed, her eyes fixated on his shaft. "Look at how perfect it is. Marcus, come here. I want you to feel it before he puts it in me."

Marcus approached the bed, his cage tight and uncomfortable around his constrained cock. Emily took Darnell's shaft in her hand and guided Marcus's fingers to wrap around it beneath her own.

"Feel how heavy it is?" she asked, her voice reverent. "Feel how thick? This is a real man's cock, Marcus. This is what I need."

Marcus nodded, his throat dry. The shaft in his hand was hot and pulsing, impossibly hard and yet somehow soft at the same time. It was alive with power, with masculine energy, and holding it made Marcus feel small and insignificant in comparison.

"That's enough," Darnell said, pushing Marcus's hand away. "Get in your chair, cuck. It's time for your wife to get fucked."

What followed was the most intense session Marcus had ever witnessed. Darnell took Emily with a ferocity that bordered on violence, pounding into her so hard that the bed frame threatened to break. He used her in every position—missionary, doggy style, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl—forcing orgasm after orgasm from her willing body.

And then, finally, he turned to the main event.

"Ready for that ass?" he asked, his voice rough with exertion.

"Yes," Emily gasped, her face flushed and sweaty. "But go slow, please. I've never done this before."

"Don't worry, snowbunny," Darnell said, coating his cock with a generous amount of lube. "I'll open you up nice and slow. By the time I'm done, you'll be begging for it in your ass every time."

Marcus watched from his chair, his heart hammering, as Darnell positioned himself at Emily's back entrance. He pressed forward slowly, steadily, and Marcus saw Emily's eyes widen as she was penetrated in a way she'd never experienced before.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Oh my god, it's so big, it's so fucking big, I can feel it everywhere, oh god, oh god!"

"Relax," Darnell commanded, working himself deeper. "Push out. Let me in. That's it, good girl, take that Black dick in your ass. Take it all."

Inch by inch, he disappeared inside her, until finally his heavy balls were resting against her pussy and his entire length was sheathed in her tightest hole. Emily was shaking, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her mouth open in a silent scream of overwhelmed sensation.

"Full," she gasped. "So full, I'm so full, I can't believe it, I can't believe how deep you are!"

"Ready for me to move?" Darnell asked.

"Yes," Emily moaned. "Please, fuck my ass. Fuck my married ass with your big Black cock!"

Darnell began to thrust—slowly at first, then with increasing speed and force. The sounds that came from Emily were unlike anything Marcus had ever heard—deep, guttural, primal noises that spoke of being filled beyond capacity, of experiencing pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

"Rub her clit," Darnell ordered Marcus. "Make her cum on my dick."

Marcus scrambled forward, his cage aching, and reached between Emily's legs to find her swollen clit. He rubbed it in tight circles as Darnell pounded her ass, and within seconds Emily was cumming—harder than Marcus had ever seen, her whole body convulsing, her ass clamping down on Darnell's invading shaft.

"Fuck, that's tight," Darnell grunted. "Gonna cum, gonna fill this ass with my seed. You want that, you anal slut? You want me to breed your ass?"

"Yes!" Emily screamed, still shaking from her orgasm. "Yes, cum in my ass, please, fill me up, I need it, I need your Black cum!"

Darnell roared and buried himself to the hilt, his body tensing as he emptied his balls deep inside Emily's ass. Marcus could see the pulses, could see Emily's stomach bulge slightly with the volume of cum being deposited inside her. It went on and on, Darnell's orgasm seemingly endless, until finally he pulled out with a wet sound and collapsed onto the bed beside her.

Emily lay there, panting, her ass gaping and leaking thick white cum onto the sheets. She looked over at Marcus, her eyes glazed and satisfied.

"Clean me," she whispered. "Clean your wife's ass, Marcus. Show Darnell what a good cuckold you are."

Marcus didn't hesitate. He moved between her legs and pressed his face to her well-fucked hole, his tongue darting out to taste the mixture of lube and cum that leaked from her. The taste was stronger than when he cleaned her pussy—more intense, more musky, more degrading—and he lapped it up with desperate enthusiasm, pushing his tongue inside her to get every drop.

"That's it," Darnell laughed, watching the scene with amusement. "Clean her up, little man. Get all that superior seed. You love it, don't you? You love eating my cum out of your wife's ass."

Marcus couldn't deny it. He was moaning against Emily's hole, his cage dripping with precum, his entire existence narrowed down to the act of submission he was performing. He was no longer a husband—he was a servant, a cleanup boy, a cuckold whose only purpose was to facilitate his wife's pleasure with a better man.