She had been out with Julia, her assistant, at Chin Chin on Sunset to celebrate a new account for her dance consulting company. As they were eating, they couldn’t help noticing a group of professional athletes out for a night out at a table nearby. Christina didn’t know anything about sports teams, so she probably had no idea it was some famous faces from the sports world sitting there eating fancy Chinese food. But she noticed them.
Andre (obviously I’ve changed all their names!) the good looking football player seated there serving himself up barbecue pork, didn’t play for a Los Angeles team. He played for a team back east, but like many professional athletes he came to LA for various professional and social activities, shooting commercials, meeting with agents, and so on. At the table with him was a pro baseball player named LaShawn, and a basketball player named Lester. At one point Andre made eye contact across the way with Christina. She has a fleck of purple in her irises, and sometimes it catches the light in a peculiar way that makes a violet colored spark across the room. That’s probably what Andre saw. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. That was the end of it.
But later when she excused herself to go to the bathroom, Andre’s baseball player friend, LaShawn, came over to Julia and told her, “Pardon the intrusion, but my friend over there, Andre, he noticed your friend and he was wondering if you could give her his number.” He handed Julia a card with Andre’s number on it.
“She’s married,” said Julia, without missing a beat, and handed him back the card. “But thank you anyhow.”
The baseball player bowed politely and excused himself, taking the card back to his friend and no doubt razzing him a bit about striking out like that. When Christina came back from the bathroom, Julia told her what had happened and they shared a laugh. Julia, of course, knew nothing about my wife’s hobby, and found the whole thing amusing but not surprising, as people had come up to her many, many times before to ask about Christina.
On their way out, Julia didn’t see my wife very casually and sneakily pass by the professional athletes’ table and drop her card in front of Andre. He looked up at her in great surprise. She winked and carried on to catch up to Julia.
Andre called and texted Christina a bunch of times that week, but she was very busy and couldn’t arrange a time to meet him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet him. Finally, she came to me and told me this football player was texting her.
I am not a big sports guy. I don’t know anything about pro sports, but I had at least heard this guy’s name. And it was kind of intimidating. I felt something very hard in my chest. A famous guy was texting my Christina. This was a new feeling.
“Wow,” I said. “He’s pretty famous I think.”
Needless to say, that was a night of googling. I boned up on Andre and learned all about his career and his rushing statistics and all kinds of stuff. He was a super successful athlete.
“He’s also married,” I told her.
“Yeah,” she said. “So am I.”
“I wonder what he was doing running around LA handing out his business card to chicks like you.”
“Yeah, I wonder,” she said. “Maybe he likes older women.”
My wife pretends to be in her late thirties. Who knows how old any woman is? She keeps in great shape. You would never know she has teenaged kids. She looks maybe in her early thirties. But still, that is a bit of a stretch for a professional football player in his twenties. He was definitely age inappropriate for her. Weren’t there enough 22-year-old cheerleaders for him to bang? Why did he have to pick on my wife?
“What’s wrong?” my wife asked the next morning during breakfast. “You look sick.”
“I am sick,” I complained. “I am worried sick about this football player. He’s…he’s…too much.”
“Too much what,” she said.
“He’s too famous. He’s too good looking. He’s too in shape. He’s too fucking perfect.”
“OK honey,” she said sweetly. “If you want, I’ll block his number. You know we haven’t even spoken. He just sent me a few texts. I’ll cut it off. No problem.”
I felt better then. But right away I had seller’s remorse.
What if this guy really was the fuck of the century and I was depriving my lovely Christina of it?
That day at work I locked myself in the men’s room stall and I couldn’t help beating off to the thought of this football player doing my wife. I wouldn’t be able to watch, no way. A famous guy like that does not want to be watched having sex. I wouldn’t even be allowed to wait downstairs in his hotel. I would have to wait outside, in the car. While they went upstairs. He was probably saying in the Peninsula or one of those other super nice Beverly Hills places. I would be circling the block, there’s never parking on Rodeo. Christina would be upstairs with this running back. He would be running his hands down her naked back. He would turn her over and run his big fingers down her shoulders, and onto her breasts. He would be stroking her nipples. He would be getting an erection. He would pull his erection out of his briefs. It would be huge. A big black cock.
“Mmmm,” Christina would say. “Yummy.”
Then she would suck it.
And so it went. I was so into it I went through the whole routine about four times that day, my wife being satisfied by the largeness of Andre. By the beautiful body of this star athlete, his rippling muscles, his handsome, devilish smiling face. He would be talking to her as he was running his fingers across her naked body.
“I wanted to tap that the moment I saw you across the room at that Chinese place,” he was saying.
“Why?” she would sigh, fishing like she does, for the praise and adulation.
“You got the prettiest eyes I ever saw. They caught me in their grip. I couldn’t get out of their grip, you know. That’s what I do for a living, I evade tackles. I couldn’t evade the tackle of your eyes.”
“I tackled you,” she sighs.
“You took me to the ground, girl,” he said. “You slammed me. And now look, this black motherfucker is all yours. I’m gonna do anything for you. Anything you want.”
“Will you film a promo for this sports club I’m promoting.”
“Oh hell yes,” he said. “You just send the shit over to my agent. I’ll sign anything. Just let me fuck you baby.”
Now I’m not one of these guys in the cuck community who is obsessed with watching my wife get the BBC, the big black cock. I don’t care what color it is, I just want it to be big. And so does Christina. I am also made slightly uncomfortable by the racial component to a lot of the cuck porn. It seems to be perpetuating the racist stereotype of the African American male as wild sex beast. But that’s not what Andre was. He was a charismatic, well-loved person. And I was so happy, in my fantasy, that he was making my wife so horny. She didn’t know she was the kind of person a famous football star would like to fuck. This must be kind of blowing her mind. As it was blowing mine.
That night at dinner I mentioned to Christina, “Listen, I had a think about it. If you want to call Andre I have no objection.”
“Aww….” said Christina. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m sure,” I said. She gave me a big wet kiss.
It was about three days later that they got together. It wasn’t a hotel. Turns out that Andre had a huge mansion in Beverly Hills, one of those things they call a Mega Mansion. But his family didn’t live there. They lived in in the north east. When Andre came out to LA, though, he stayed in this enormous place.
“It was like a castle,” Christina told me, when she got home that night after her date with him. “It was like twenty rooms. And he was all alone there.”
“Did you have fun?” I asked her.
“Sure,” she said. “But…gotta say. He wasn’t that big.”
“He was about your size,” she said. “Not small, but…”
“So you didn’t fuck him?”
“What would be the point?”
See, all African American males are not huge. That’s a cuckold community myth. My wife has had two black guys. One was huge. The other was not. Go figure.
“We fooled around a little and then I said goodbye,” she said. “I’m gonna go up and take a shower.”
I found out later that night, after a lot of digging, how it all went down.
She drove over to his house. He had some champagne all set out. She took some sips of the champagne. She asked about his family, his wife and so on. He didn’t want to talk about it. He asked about her family. She told him about me, about my strange proclivities.
“He should be here watching,” he said, when he heard. “Why the hell don’t you call him?”
He was into it!
“No,” said Christina. “I want you all to myself.”
“You got me baby. You got me all to yourself.”
He went in for the kiss and they made out for a long time. Then he took her by the hand over to the master bedroom. It was an enormous oval shaped bed. There were fish tanks and an exotic lighting set up so the room was glowing with red and yellow. And then, she saw smoke. He had some kind of smoke machine.
There was some intense loud music then, just in time as Andre stripped off his clothes and revealed his boner. Nice average sized boner. My wife went over and sucked it. He wanted to cum in her face but she moved her head away and he came onto the fish tank next to the bed.
“Oh man, I came on Snoop’s tank.”
That was what he called his fish. Snoop Dog. Cause it was some kind of Dog Fish, I guess.
“Now lie back girl, he told her. “I want to slide those panties off you and make you as happy as you just made me.”
He slid off her panties and ate her. By the time she came, he was hard again.
“You ready for the real deal?” he asked her. “You ready to fuck Andre?”
“Nah,” said Christine. “I’m good.”
“For real, baby?” he said, hurt. “I can taste you down there, you’re ripe and ready for it.”
“Let’s save something for next time,” she said, with some authority. He got the message.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “That’s cool. At least I don’t have to lie to my wife. I didn’t fuck nobody.”
“Neither did I,” she said, getting her clothes back on.
“But won’t your husband be disappointed?” he said. “Didn’t he want you to fuck me?”
“Whose life is it?” she asked him. “His or mine?”
“Oh baby, you are one powerful female,” he said, admiring the steely strength of my Christina.
After she told me that final detail, in bed that night, she said, “My darling, you know yours is the only average sized cock that I’m ever gonna let into this pussy.”
She pulled me into her, and I fucked her. My wife! So loyal, I almost wanted to cry.
So Andre ended up filming a promo for Christina’s company, just like he promised. Then he texted her almost every time he came out to LA. Finally, his team came to play here. I knew she’d be hearing from him. She was polite, and told him no. He offered us bench seats, box seats, all kinds of shit.
“I want to meet that crazy husband of yours,” he said. “He sounds like a real freak. Tell him I’ll fuck you in front of him.”
“No, Andre,” she said. “We’re too busy. Maybe next time.”
“Come on, I got this game coming up, help me out here,” he begged.
“I am helping you out, Andre,” she said. “You gotta stay hungry!”
“Oh baby, I’m more than hungry. I’m desperate. I’m gonna die.”
Christina is a little cruel, but you knew that. She could easily have made a sharp cut and blocked Andre’s number. But the idea of this superstar athlete drooling for her, it made her so horny.
“You’ll be fine,” she said on the phone. He must have been really whining and pretending he was dying because she wouldn’t let him fuck her. My wife was grinning from ear to ear.
“Bye Andre,” she said.
Then she hung up on him.
She looked over at me and smiled. I knew what she was saying with that smile. “I got his power, all his power, and I got it by not fucking him. Every time it’s different. Sometimes you get their power by fucking them. But sometimes you get it by not fucking them.”
We watched the game that weekend. Andre got the ball and blasted through about six guys to score a touchdown in the last second. Winning the game.
“See,” my wife said to me. “See what you can do when you stay hungry!”
My wife wants me to stay hungry. She wants me to stay crazy for her, to always long for her, to be hungry to improve myself and to one day, maybe, become her bull. I’m not there yet. But the night she dated Andre and I fucked her instead of that famous football player, for one night at least, I felt like quite the stud.
Read Colt Stevens full length erotica here