Forbidden Betrayal, Crossing the Line
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
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Forbidden Betrayal, Crossing the Line
An Interracial Cuckoldry Story
His best friend does the honors of deflowering his bride to be
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
© Copyright 2023 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and has descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This tale is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, actual events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Forbidden Betrayal, Crossing the Line
Denver, Colorado
Twelve years ago
At 25, I believed myself invincible and couldn’t believe my luck when I met an 18-year-old high school cheerleader. I’m talking super petite, five feet, with small tits, a thin waist, and a tight, tiny round ass. As you’d expect, it displeased her parents when she dated a man as old as I was.
We promised her folks we wouldn’t make love until she’d graduated high school. We knew the promise would be hard to keep, but we’re determined to stay strong. Still, doubts lingered about whether I’d taken on too much with this task. My girlfriend, Cyndi, however, had no reservations. She assured me I wouldn’t be fucking her. Despite her determination, after a month or two, we made do with mutual oral sex. When she was on her period, she sucked me off. And, notwithstanding my love for her, I fucked other girls because I can be a hound dog.
When I met Cyndi, recognizing she was the boss didn’t take long. Her casual demeanor, often cruel jokes and belittling comments, sometimes her attitude actually scared me. She’d be kind and funny, but in a flash, Cyndi would do something wicked, say or do something without considering the consequences of her words. I realized she had a certain spontaneous callousness, which she didn’t intend to hurt, but was, in fact, quite dreadfully painful.
When she first touched my penis, it brought up feelings inside me. Emotions I couldn’t explain — a mixture of anticipation and fear. It wasn’t what I expected, yet I wanted more. As she caressed my small dingus, my body suddenly turned icy.
While I wanted her attention, at what price did it come? How could I keep my distance, keep our promise to her parents while yearning for her touch? Out of nowhere, she blurted out the cruelest comment while rubbing, stroking, and exciting me.
“Goodness, I thought you’d be bigger,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” In a matter of days, she made no less than 30 comments about wishing I was more of a man where it counted than I was.
One night, in my car, parked at our favorite make-out spot, other than my apartment, once she got me off, she cut me to the quick.
“It isn’t very cool that I can get your entire dick and balls in my mouth. I’m not sure you’ll even break my cherry when we fuck. I guess as long as you get me off with your tongue will be good.”
Tears burst from my eyes, and I blabbered, “If you want to break up, I understand.”
“Don’t be a fucking baby,” she said. “I don’t want to break up. Damn, Jeffery, you’re a pain in my rump. I love you, and that means something. I’ll put up with your shortcomings just like you’ll put up with mine. Don’t be so thin-skinned.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop it,” she said. “This conversation is done.”
And our argument for the night ended. However, my shortcomings would continue to be a topic she picked on often.
Flash forward four months, and it’s January. Only five months and she’ll be out of school, and we can make love, of course, with protection. While we were in love, she had a big crush on a buddy of mine. I’m talking about a super handsome, six-foot-four-inch black guy, a 28-year-old chick magnet, packing an enormous lady pleaser in his britches.
Cyndi and I were at this party, and a friend of hers, Patty, hooked up with Tavon, and they fucked in one bedroom in the house. Patty turned out to be a screamer, and everyone heard how much she enjoyed Tavon. After two hours of lovemaking, fucking, rutting, whatever, she staggered back to the party, visibly shaken, not stirred.
Afterward, Patty prattled to her, day after day, about how great it was. How physically dominating he was, and how wonderful he made her feel.
At that point, my beloved Cyndi developed an obsession with Tavon. She watched interracial porn on my computer at my digs. Constantly she spoke about Tavon and told me he was a real man and said the coldest and cruelest thing, not meaning to hurt me.
“You know, baby, I want Tavon to be me first. I really, really do.” Cyndi destroyed me.
The waterworks exploded.
“Damn it, Jeffery, it’s only sex. What have I told you about these stupid issues you have?”
“I’m too sensitive.”
“You’re like damn tween girl.”
“But people that love each other…”
“Want the other person to be happy. You want me to enjoy my first time, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I thought…”
“I’ll never enjoy it with you, so let me have this.”
Within a few minutes of the argument starting, it ended with my enigmatic, utter defeat.
“So, we’re agreed on Tavon. You call him, tell him what we want, and set it for your place Saturday night. Remember, baby, I must be home by midnight, so say six o’clock, okay?”