My Wife's Vacation with My Black Work Friend

I am Bianca, thirty-two, and for months my wife Rebecca, twenty-eight, and I had been building this fantasy together in the dark of our bedroom. After I finished inside her she would keep talking, voice dreamy, describing how she wanted a black man to stretch her open, to fuck her harder than I could, to leave her soaked and claimed while I listened or waited at home. The idea made me hard all over again. Fabian, my thirty-five-year-old Black work friend, had slowly become the man she pictured. He was easy to be around at the office, tall and solid, with a laugh that carried, and Rebecca had started asking small questions about him that were not small at all.

When his own beach plans fell through he texted me, casual. The villa was already booked and paid; he hated the idea of going alone. Would Rebecca want to come along? Strictly as friends, he added, a free week in the sun. I showed her the message at the kitchen counter. Her cheeks flushed. She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “If you booked us somewhere private and stayed home, I would go.” So I did exactly that. I upgraded them to a private villa with its own pool and beach access, no shared walls, no one else around. I called Fabian and told him I would not be joining. I wanted them completely alone for the week. He was quiet, then said he understood if that was what we both wanted. Rebecca, standing beside me, did not hide how the idea affected her. “I’m excited,” she told us both, voice unsteady. “I’ve been thinking about it since you asked. I want this. I want to be there with him and know Bianca is hundreds of miles away letting it happen.” The tension sat thick between the three of us even over the phone. I kissed her goodbye at the airport two days later and watched her walk toward the gate already wet, already his for the week if she chose.

They landed and the teasing started at once. Rebecca texted me from the villa terrace the first afternoon: he had carried her bag inside and his hand had lingered at the small of her back. She wore the tiny white bikini by the pool and asked him, lightly, if it was too much. He told her it was perfect and that he was trying very hard to be good. They talked for hours as the sun dropped, honest once the wine was open but neither of them drunk, just warm and direct. She admitted she had come on this trip because she wanted to be taken by a well-hung Black man, that her husband had sent her here on purpose and was staying away so they could be alone. Fabian listened, eyes on her mouth, and confessed he had noticed her for a long time and had kept his distance because she was married to his friend. The second day the flirting turned physical in small ways. She modeled bikinis for him, turning slowly, asking which one he liked best, and he answered that he liked the one he could take off fastest. They swam, brushed against each other in the water, and later she sat between his knees on the lounger while he rubbed sunscreen over her shoulders and down her spine, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. She told him, voice low, how much she wanted to feel him inside her, how she had fantasized about the size of him compared to me. He rested his forehead against her shoulder and said he would give her whatever she asked for if she was sure. That evening she texted me from the bedroom while he showered: I want him tonight. I want to give myself to him. My reply was immediate. I want you to give yourself to him completely. Don’t hold back. Be his for as long as you want. She sent back a single word: Yes. Then she went to find him.

Rebecca met Fabian in the doorway of the bedroom, still damp from the shower, towel low on his hips. She didn’t explain. She reached for the towel, let it fall, and sank to her knees on the cool tile before he could speak. His cock was already thick and heavy, darker than the rest of him, and when she wrapped her hand around it she made a soft, shocked sound. “You’re so much bigger than Bianca,” she said, looking up at him, and then she opened her mouth and took him in. She sucked him eagerly, greedily, pushing down until she gagged, spit flooding her tongue and spilling over her lips in shiny strings. She didn’t stop. She worked him with her mouth and both hands, drooling messily, moaning around the thick shaft, pulling off only long enough to tell him again how huge he felt, how her jaw ached in the best way, how she had wanted this cock in her throat since the airport. Fabian groaned, one hand gentle in her hair, hips rocking just enough to feed her more. She gagged again, eyes watering, and kept going, sloppy and devoted, until her chin and his balls were wet with her spit and she was whimpering that she needed him inside her.

He pulled her up, kissed the taste of himself off her mouth, then turned her and bent her over the foot of the king-sized bed. Her ass tipped up, thighs shaking. He yanked her bikini aside, lined his cock up with her soaked pussy, and drove into her in one deep, powerful stroke. Rebecca screamed, the sound raw and thrilled, as he filled her farther than she had ever been filled. He didn’t pause. He fucked her hard from behind, hands locked on her hips, each thrust long and heavy, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so deep her toes curled. The wet slap of his body against hers filled the room. She came fast, crying out, pussy clenching around the thick intrusion, and he kept going, relentless, making her cum a second time while she babbled that his black cock was splitting her open, that she could feel him in her stomach, that she was his white slut and he should use her like one. Sweat shone on her back. She pushed back to meet every stroke, greedy for it, voice breaking into sobs of pleasure each time he bottomed out.

When her legs threatened to give, he flipped her onto her back on the mattress, grabbed her behind the knees, and pinned her legs wide, folding her open. He sank into her again, missionary, and the new angle let him grind even deeper. Rebecca stared up at him, mouth open, taking it, her hands clutching the sheets. “Yes—fuck me—pound my married pussy,” she moaned. “Flood me. I want your cum. I’m your white slut for the whole week, Fabian, fill me up.” He gave her exactly that, hips pistoning, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with every thrust, her tits bouncing, her cries turning hoarse. She came again, hard, gushing around him, and the feel of it dragged him over. He buried himself to the hilt and came in thick, pulsing loads, flooding her pussy until she felt the heat of it and the overflow began to leak out around his shaft even while he was still pumping. She moaned through it, telling him she could feel every spurt, that she loved being creampied by him, that she wanted him to keep her full all night.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed deep and started fucking her through the mess, slow at first, then harder, stirring his cum inside her until it frothed and leaked down to the sheets. Rebecca begged for more, legs locked around him as best she could while he held her spread. He folded her tighter and railed her until she screamed through another orgasm, then another, her voice cracking as she called herself his slut, his hole, his to use. He came a second time with a rough groan, adding another heavy load that mixed with the first and spilled out in warm rivulets. They barely paused. He turned her onto her stomach, dragged her hips up, and took her from behind again, one hand in her hair, fucking her so hard the bed frame knocked the wall. She came sobbing into the pillow, and he flooded her a third time, cum leaking steadily down her thighs onto the ruined linen. Later she rode him, sinking down on his still-hard cock, grinding until she shook apart and he filled her once more, her hands braced on his chest, telling him how much bigger he was, how perfectly he ruined her, how she never wanted him to stop.

By the time the sky lightened they had gone several more rounds—against the glass door, with her legs over his shoulders, once with her on all fours on the rug while he spanked her ass red and fucked her through it. Rebecca finally collapsed beside him, spent and glowing, skin flushed, hair tangled, his cum still leaking in slow pulses from her swollen, well-fucked pussy onto the messy sheets. She fumbled for her phone and video-called me. I picked up at once. Her face filled the screen, lips bitten, eyes soft and satisfied, a smear of dried spit still on her chin. She turned the camera so I could see the wrecked bed and the white streaks on her inner thighs. “I loved every second of being alone with him,” she said, voice hoarse and happy. “He fucked me senseless all night. I’m still dripping his cum. I want to spend the rest of the vacation letting him use me whenever and however he desires. Do you want to watch me take him again tomorrow while you listen?”