Black Bride Likes ‘Em White

We were in Atlantic City. It was our honeymoon. We had tied the knot that morning. Lezli had made a beautiful bride. She was still wearing her wedding gown as we checked into the hotel. She was beautiful. My proud black bride. Long light brown hair spilling down to her shoulders, her veil still on her head. Her hazel eyes alight with the wonder of this day. At least at the time I thought that that is what they were alight with.

For seven years I had been after Lezli to marry me. Seven years of busting my ass to make something of myself, finally feeling that I had done so and, apparently, so had she because she finally said yes.

I was in heaven. Finally, I had the woman of my dreams. Finally she was mine. I felt as if I was walking on clouds and you couldn’t have done anything to pull me down. Or so I thought.

As we checked into the hotel, finally as Mr. & Mrs. Malcolm C. Brown, I noticed that Lezli was speaking to the desk clerk as if she knew him. Never called him by name, but I detected a familiarity in their banter.

Looking back I realize that I was destined to be a sucker from the start. I really should have paid more attention to their conversation, but I was so thrilled to be the groom to this gorgeous young black woman that I just ignored it. The sounds of their murmuring coming to me as if through pillows. I totally shut it all out I was so excited. I mindlessly signed the room contract the tall white man gave me. God help me I didn’t notice the gleam in Lezli’s eyes (nor did I notice the contempt in his) as she chatted with him.

Looking back, I can hear snatches of their conversation now. Lordy, I was so blind!

I can hear him saying, “you know your place in life?”

I can hear her saying, “yes Mark.”

I can hear him replying “we want you to leave the gown on.”

I can hear her exhale and say, “yessir.”

Look, I KNOW this sounds incredible. I know you’re saying to yourself “oh c’mon man! Do you really expect us to believe that you’re so stupid that on your own wedding day you weren’t paying enough attention to notice highly unusual exchanges between your new wife and a total stranger?” I can hear you saying, “yeah right! Get real!”

But I swear to you that this is how it happened. I swear it. I’m not lying.

Anyway, like I said, I was so taken with the fact that Lezli was now my bride that I would’ve ignored the Lord himself coming back to claim the redeemed. I would have ignored a nuclear blast. I would’ve ignored tidal waves, earthquakes, and tornadoes. The answer is, yes I was really that stupid and clueless.

So, I just signed the room slip and turned to my lovely new wife.

“Lezli,” I said.

She was leaning over the counter, her beautiful black face inches from the clerk–grinning, grinning and whispering, her lush brown tits spilling over the bodice of the gown, damn near popping out.

I cleared my throat. “Lezli.”

My young black wife ignored me, still whispering to this white stranger.

I watched as he lifted a finger off of the counter, pointing to me. Lezli turned then and looked at me, seeming to come to herself.

As I said, all of this is in hindsight. At the time I was too caught up in my own private nirvana to register what was going on. Life was too good, then, to understand that I was already doomed to be a cuckold. And a black cuckold at that. I mean, you read all of these stories about white guys being cuckolded by black men, so I guess every one figures that this is the only way it goes. I’m here to tell that it ain’t.

Anyway, she finally deigned to look at me, as the white stranger had obviously instructed (at least, it’s obvious now) and said, simply, “what?”

“We can go to our room honey, we’re all checked in.”

Lezli looked back at the man behind the counter, as if looking for approval and he nodded.

My 23 year old beautiful black wife of less than 3 hours then leaned back and resumed her role of happy newlywed. Oh how deceitful she was, deceitful and convincing. She beamed at me, showering me with that winning and sincere smile of hers. Convincing me that I was the light of her life in that one amazing moment. Shooing away any doubt that I might have felt at that moment as easily as one chases away a dust bunny under the bed.

My breath was taken away and I had trouble breathing for a moment, the pounding of my heart making it hard for me to take in air. I was in love. Totally and unconditionally.

You really should have seen her in her lovely white gown. Pearls and lace and satin contrasting with her dusky skin. Ah! My God! So beautiful! So incredibly beautiful!

The guy behind the counter sharply rang the bell and said “front!”

He didn’t say it loud, but he did say it with unquestionable authority. So much authority that I, myself, briefly considered following the command.

A young white boy, about 19 or so, came running up, bumping me aside to pick up our bags. I shot a look of discontent at him for shoving me, but he just looked at me and smiled, grabbed our suitcases and placed them on the cart.

Since this was my honeymoon, I decided not to make a scene by scolding him for his clumsiness, and followed my bride and the bellboy as they turned and walked to the elevators.

Let me tell you that just about every head in the lobby turned to look at Lezli.

Lezli is 5’6″, weighs about 110. Her figure is lush however, 35C, 27 and a whopping 37. She has the classic black woman’s ass. It juts out and bounces sooooooo enticingly when she walks. People often tell her that she resembles Whitney Houston in the face. She has that same classy look, the same skin coloring and her hair, though longer than Whitney wears hers, is about the same color. She is a truly stunning black woman, and I have often caught other men eyeing her appreciatively, which had always made me proud to be seen with her in public.

Like I said, she turned a lot of heads in the hotel lobby that day. There was a white man, in his 40’s, who actually whistled. Another white guy lifted his head up from the Wall Street Journal (a publication that I never understood) and followed her with his eyes. There was a middle-aged couple, that leaned together and whispered. A couple of other bellhops turned and stared too. A little black girl who couldn’t have been older than 16 whooped as if in triumph.

I thought, in my ignorance, that they were admiring the beauty of my pretty young bride. They were. Just not in the way that I was thinking, and each of them were to be involved in my honeymoon night, though not in a way that I could ever have imagined in a million years.

I thought I heard the bellboy ask Lezli, “does he know?”

I thought I heard her say, “nope, no idea.”

I shrugged it off.

You see they had taken quite a few steps ahead of me and I couldn’t hear so well. It never occurred to me that the bellboy was walking next to my wife, now far ahead when I should have been by her side. She had even taken his arm!

It’s amazing what love will do. Amazing how finally getting your dream woman will make you feel. I knew, just KNEW that nothing would ever come between us. So, you see I didn’t place any importance on the physical positions that we now occupied. How I was to regret this!

I HEARD the question and the answer, but chose to ignore them.

Anyway, she swept through the lobby and stopped at the elevator. The eyes in the lobby followed her every step of the way, my beautiful black queen, looking so innocent and desirable in her gown.

The doors of the elevator opened and the bellboy pushed the cart bearing our luggage in, my lovely Lezli following him.

I approached the doors as they abruptly slammed right in my face.

I staggered back, stunned and dazed.

I looked up and saw that the car was ascending. The lights illuminated one by one, finally stopping at “23.”

I glanced down at the slip in my hand. It read, “Suite 2301, Bridal.”

I patiently waited for the next elevator, thinking a bit dumbly that my wife had already arrived at our suite, that I should be carrying her across the threshold. Stupid me. The doors to my right slid open and I boarded the elevator, pushing the button for the 23rd floor. They slid shut and the car began its ascent.

I felt like such an idiot as I rose in the elevator. I remember feeling a sense of impending doom, though I couldn’t quite understand why. I suppose that I still felt the thrill of finally winning my bride’s hand in marriage, that I was happy and that all was as it should be. But obviously, dear reader, things were most definitely NOT as they should have been. I’m sure that you can see that as you read this, am sure that you know that what was in store for me was going to be far from normal, and that you are, even now, shaking your head with disbelief at my ignorance and naivete.

There was a “ding” and the doors slid open again and I stepped out of the elevator, looking at the plaques on the walls showing which direction the various room numbers lay. I turned left to where 2301 should be. I got to the door and slipped the card key in and pulled it out. A green light came on and I turned the handle down to enter the room, pushing the door open.

What I saw upon entering that suite took away my breath.

Lezli was standing in front of the bellboy, gazing lovingly up into his face as he spoke softly to her while caressing her face through the gauzy lace of the veil. Stroking and petting her as he would a faithful dog.

Her left hand, the blazing diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band glittering was stroking the front of his pants. She looked up at him as if hypnotized, totally intent and focused on his clean-shaven white boy’s face and swaying gently back and forth.

I realize that at this point I should have exploded in anger. Should have run into the room and attacked and beat the shit out of the young white boy enthralling my new bride. A real man would have done this. But, as you know by now I am not a real man so of course I did no such thing. Instead I just stood there watching, paralyzed with humiliation and disbelief.

The white boy turned to look at me, nailing me to the spot with his clear blue eyes as he grinned.

“Well, well…the groom is here. Congratulations Malcolm my boy! Happy wedding day you lucky dog you!”

Lezli continued to lovingly stroke the front of his pants and then slid down to her knees, the silky fabric of her gown hissing lightly as she did so, until her veil covered face was right in front of his crotch. She reached with her left hand, the hand with the rings that I had slaved and worked my sorry black ass into the ground for, grabbed the zipper and pulled it down, her right hand reaching in to haul out his already stiff white prick.

I heard a sigh escape her as she drew out the hard white cock, at least 9 inches long. It was long but thin and curved upwards, which made it look like a wicked short knife, and was capped by a mushroom head that was larger around than the shaft. She shifted hands so that she now grasped it with the left, the rings gleaming and sparkling against the throbbing dick. Her thumb stroking the most sensitive spot, she caressed the prick, making the blood filled veins stand out prominently so that the young white boy’s prick began to look down right angry. She gently stroked the cock, back and forth, back and forth, all the while making these contented little mewlings and admiring sounds. With sighs and moans and purring she looked up at him as she kneeled there before him in her white wedding gown, the gown that she had just a few hours before pledged herself to me in front of God and family and friends.

The white boy was still looking at me however when he said, “looks like the little bride wants some white dick Malcolm. Think I should give her some?”

The audaciousness of this made my brain spin and ache. I felt like I was in some sort of twisted nightmare. As if I had been transported into a world that was totally alien from the one in which I lived day-to-day. Like I had stepped into some porn king’s version of “The Twilight Zone,” expecting an especially evil Rod Serling to appear over my shoulder and give a lewd prologue as introduction to what I was about to witness.

I could hear old Rod speaking in that distinct clipped voice of his, holding a burning cigarette and saying, “submitted for your approval. Malcolm C. Brown, lately of New York City and recently married. Named after the infamous Malcolm X, his parents being devotees of the Muslim hypocrite, anxiously and irrationally expecting to be able to ravish his new African-American bride, a certain miss Lezli Brown nee Baske. What he finds instead is a world far darker and blacker and bleaker than the brown of his own skin. Instead he finds that he has stepped into…”

“Answer me BOY!”

I snapped back to the present and dimly realized that I had to respond to the order of the bellboy. Incredibly, I did, stammering “yeah, you should.”

I heard Lezli issue a snicker as she looked up into the white boy’s face and she said, “see, I told you.”

“Yeah, he’s a wimp alright, good job.”

“Thank you,” she whimpered, “oh…thank you sir!”

“Suck now child…suck my dick now and shut the fuck up.”

My new wife had called this teen white boy sir! This teen boy had called my new wife child! She sighed and seemed to melt and revel in the name “child” and she leaned forward, her face approaching his stiff dick as she lifted her veil with her right hand and engulfed his gleaming white prick between her open lips.

She slid those lips, lips I had never kissed (she offered my her cheek at the wedding), down over the helmet of his raging gossamer cock, slid further still, until her nose was buried in the blond pubic hair of the commanding white teenager. She swallowed every inch, her black face now impaled on the white dick, her nostrils flaring open like a skittish race horse as she inhaled his scent, and she began to drool, all the while moaning and purring as if this was the most delicious of delicacies.

I was by turns captivated, dismayed, humiliated, turned on and devestated by the sight of my darling and gorgeous young black wife kneeling submissively before the young white boy in her wedding gown, the very gown that her own mom had worn at HER wedding, eagerly sucking that white cock, her left hand (the hand with the rings) following her mouth back and forth and in and out, her saliva beginning to make the cock shine and jerking him with her hand and sweet lips, those lips that I had never even kissed.

I felt my stomach tumble and squirm with the lewdness of what I was seeing. Felt my mouth go dry and my hands grow moist.

I also felt my dick stir, which further dismayed me. I just couldn’t believe that I was getting hard watching my bride in all of her splendor, in all of her wedding gown clad glory suck a white boy’s cock right in front of me on our honeymoon night, in our honeymoon suite, which was paid for by my hard work, and which had maxed out my American Express card. So much so that I fretted over how in the hell I was going to pay for it. Everyone knows that Amex wants payment in full.

This made me feel so ashamed of myself. How could I get turned on by this? Nevertheless, I was.

I watched as Lezli made love to the white cock with the lips that I had longed to kiss. I can only describe it as making love, because she was obviously giving her heart to this blow job. She had never let me even kiss her in the 7 years that I had tried to woo her over. Had never even let me touch the smooth skin of her breasts or legs or even her face, even after I had placed the engagement ring on her slender black finger.

Yet, here she was, sliding those lips over the alabaster penis of a young boy, avidly sucking, drooling now so much so that her spit slid out of the corners of her mouth and dribbled down, hanging and snapping off to cover her lace covered breasts and staining the pure white gown.

The white boy began to fuck his hips into my kneeling bride’s mouth, his huge dick fucking her mouth as he would a cunt. He grabbed the back of her head, gathering handfuls of the gauzy veil, shoving her head back and forth onto his raging prick. This young white bellhop was fucking my new wife’s face!

And she mewled and moaned in excitement, letting the towering white teen fuck her mouth, loving it, adoring it with her worshipful mouth. She continued to stare up into his eyes with a look that I had thought, in my stupidity, would have been reserved for me. She let herself be mouth fucked by this young white boy. Oh my God, she LET this happen.

I was dizzy and weak kneed, humiliation creeping up into my gut as I looked at my Lezli, my lovely, lovely coffee skinned black new wife Lezli servicing the bellhop, THE BELLHOP FOR CHRISSAKE, so lovingly and devotedly right in my face.

He looked over at me again and said, “do you know that you have married a whore? Hum? Do you? Do you know that she is a black ass slave for white guys? Do you know that your wife will spread her legs for white cocks, and white cocks only? Do you?” Then a snicker. Then, “no…you don’t do you?”

I again felt my heart flutter and my dick harden even more at his words.

He continued, “see asshole, Lezli is a slut. She is a black fuck beast cum queen for white men…and boys. Do you know that she has fucked and sucked white boys as young as six? Has licked the hairless pussy of white girls as young as 5? Lezli has been our cum-dump since she was 12, you stupid son-of-a-bitch, when her own mother brought her to us as a gift.”

I actually staggered back at his words, my legs banging and bending against a chair set in the corner of the room, until I sat with a grunt and out-rush of the air that I had held until now.

“Oh Malk my boy, you should have seen her sucking the dicks of our young white boys. We have tapes you know. We have video of your new bride licking and sucking off under-aged children…and loving it I might add. You know of course that this is illegal? That I could have her black ass thrown in jail? Sucking and fucking children? Your new wife is a criminal Malk ole boy. A child molester.”

“Maybe,” he continued, “if you’re good, I’ll show you the one of her being gang fucked by seven 12 year old white boys. She’s a slut Malcolm. An irredeemable slut for white cock. You haven’t even kissed her, have you,” he taunted me.

Again my mind reeled at this revelation.

Keymaya, my wife’s mom, was a beautiful black woman. She was a leader in the black community, always standing up for the rights of black folks. If what this white boy said was true, she was indeed the worst of hypocrites. She had betrayed her race while putting on the face of the race’s champion. I looked up at the bellboy fucking my wife’s face with incomprehension. I imagine that the look on my face was one of bewilderment and bafflement because he burst out laughing.

Then, the corners of his lips stretched back into an evil grin, and he said, “that’s right asshole. Keymaya is our whore too. Has been since SHE was 13, and HER mother gave her to us. So you see, Lezli is just one of a long line of nigger whores. Lezli’s destiny is to whore for us, have our half-breed babies. The girl cunts will give us more sluts. The boy bastards will be sold for labor in the countries that we control.”

All of this time, Lezli continued to suck the white boy’s cock. She continued to gaze lovingly up into his eyes, continued to slobber and stain her wedding gown.

He then yanked his cock out of her slavishly sucking mouth and asked her, “who do you belong to?”

“You,” she whined.

“And suppose I wasn’t here? Suppose there was another white man here?”

“Then I would belong to THAT white man, I would be HIS whore,” she bleated.

“And suppose there were more than one,” he taunted her.

“Then I’d belong to all of them,” she replied in a voice that I can only describe as heartfelt and pleading.

“What about your husband? Didn’t you promise to love and honor and obey him?”

“I lied,” she said, and my heart broke.

“Who will you love?”

“White men,” she responded.

“Who will you honor,” he asked, slapping her in her veil covered face with his cock.

“White men.”

“Who will you obey?”

“White men…white men…white men,” she yelled as her mouth sought to recapture the angry red prick beating her face through the veil.

I just stood there through all of this. Just stood there watching as my black bride was dominated and humiliated by the young white boy. Just stood there like an asshole as my wife lowered herself, acted like the nigger whore that she was to the majestic white dick and I found that my own dick throbbed more than it ever had in the pants of my tux.

Can you imagine? Can you imagine watching your wife love (oh, and she was LOVING) another man’s dick, still dressed in her wedding gown? Can you imagine? And a white boy’s cock at that?

I felt my soul leaking of me and going into a place that was so cold and barren. Seemed like hell. Hell on Earth.

Yet I couldn’t deny, even to myself, ESPECIALLY to myself that I wanted to see more. Much, much more. And I was to get more. Oh these white masters, whom I hadn’t even yet seen, they were going to put me in my place but good. I was to be dissed in ways that I could have never in my wildest dreams imagined. I was to experience what my ancestors had experienced when they were first brought to this country in chains. Total submission. Total degradation. Total surrender. I was to see my wife submit herself to those chains willingly, even lovingly, even though those chains were invisible, not corporeal, but real…incredibly real nonetheless.

“Do you want my cum little whore? Does the little black slut-bride want some cum from this white cock?”

“Ohhhh yessssss,” she hissed releasing the dick from her sucking mouth just long enough to reply, then slamming her face back onto it, continuing to suck for all she was worth, slobbering and slurping, her pretty wedding veil enwrapped head bobbing furiously back and forth, the hand with the symbols of our recent, unconsummated marriage stroking it up and down.

Or at least, not consummated by me.

He then issued a simple command, “beg,” and Lezli stopped sucking and assumed the same position that a dog would at that order. She leaned back, her arms lifted and her hands curled down. Her tongue slipped out of her wet pre-cum smeared lips and began panting, all the time looking the commanding white boy right in his eyes.

“Mlease,” she whimpered, and I swear she sounded just like a whining mutt, “mmmlease awwww awww awww…mlease.”

“Roll over,” the bellboy ordered.

Lezli then dropped backwards, falling onto her back, her legs and arms up in the attitude of a canine playing dead, while her hips, those luscious wide black hips twitched and bucked back and forth, her wedding gown riding up to reveal the tops of her white satin stockings and just a hint of pretty white bridal panties, a dog begging to have its tummy rubbed.

Still, she never took her eyes away from his, and as I looked into those eyes I saw a devotion which I knew at that moment I would never be blessed with. I knew, just KNEW that she would never look at me in that way.

What I didn’t know was that, when she DID look at me her look would be one of such utter contempt that I would wither under that hatred filled gaze, while she looked at white men with unconditional devotion. All white men, white boys and girls and white women.

She continued to whine like a whipped puppy, “mmleeeeeeaaaase, mlease!”

The bellboy, that damned nameless white bellboy looked over at me again with that same evil grin and said, “well trained huh?”

Speechless. I couldn’t have responded if a gun had been held to my head. Just plain old dumbstruck.

I was absolutely and totally humiliated, but sprouted an incredible hard-on nonetheless.

Picture it. Just picture it. Here I was, in my honeymoon suite, watching my brand-spanking new wife, still dressed in that nice white wedding gown grovel and roll around like a bitch dog in heat on the beige carpet in front of a teenage white boy, keening and whining for HIS cum. Not mine…HIS.

Within myself I kept saying, “this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, thiscantbehappeningthiscant behappeningthiscantbehappeningthiscantbehappening…” until it became some sort of weird mantra I was chanting, repeating over and over as if to ward off the evil reality of it.

Dimly I realized that I had begun to say this aloud again and again until I had almost convinced myself that indeed it WASN’T happening. That this was some sort of a pre-wedding nightmare that I was having in the comfort of my own bed. A horrible dream that I was having in the anxious anticipation of finally walking down that sacred aisle with Lezli, my lovely wonderful black bride. My 25 year old honey never-been-touched virgin of a bride. Just a case of the hee-bee-jee-bees and too many champagne cocktails and bad hors d’ouvers at the bachelor party (which wasn’t much, really. My minister, his wife and son.) I was to find out later what HER party had entailed.

Again the bellboy snapped me back, having heard and understood my inane mumbling with, “oh but it IS boy…it IS!”

Then he snarled, “boy…AWAKE,” and that command was like the tip of a bullwhip flicking my ass and suddenly I was again totally aware of what was happening, no longer able to deny or escape the reality of this horrible event. No longer able to deny the realization that my wife, the woman that I had pursued for seven years was abasing herself in front of him, begging him for cum while completely ignoring me and this hit me with incredible force. Enough force to finally make me expel air from my lungs and take a new breath and take note of the fact that my dick was harder than it had ever been.

I can’t tell you the amount of shame that I felt then. Can’t tell you how much I loathed and hated myself as I passively watched my new and beautiful black bride respond to the commands of this white teenage boy, his revelations of her past still spinning in my head…they echoed…”fuck beast…sucked off under-aged white boys and girls…just like her mother…” these things bounced around my head over and over.

The white boy, looking down on my bride said, “cum.”

Lezli moaned and, incredibly, began to cum as she squirmed on her back. She lifted her legs until the full length of her legs became exposed under her wedding gown, lifted her legs until her soaked panties were exposed, and the wetness between her splayed black thighs was so evident, and she came. She came. She had an orgasm at the order of the tall blonde teen standing over her.

Do you understand? She came on command. Just like she had responded to the commands of “beg,” and “roll over,” she came at his command.

Lezli’s hips rocked back and forth and her pussy frothed and leaked at the order, just the word of a boy. A mere boy.

She sighed and moaned and obeyed the order she had been given. The order to cum. She showed herself to be the slut for white cocks, for white men that she was.

Again, the bellboy looked at me and said, “well trained.” This time it wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. A fact that even I, in my ignorance couldn’t deny.

He looked back at my wife and said, “heel.”

She immediately got up and walked on all fours to his side, sitting at his left foot, knees and hands planted on the floor.

“Good bitch,” he said, petting her still veil clad head, “good bitch.”

“Show me your husband,” he barked, and she pointed to his dick, which was still sticking out of his trousers.

“Good bitch,” he said again and then ordered, “go to the phone and call the others.”

Lezli, without hesitation, dashed off to the phone to call the others–the others that would take my lovely black new wife into depths of depravity and humiliation. Such depths that would make a priest shudder. Such depths of degradation. Such depths–such depths–such depths. Hell is not deep enough to contain what I was to experience in the next few days. Peep shows, strip bars, lap dances–my new wife was going to serve white men, boys, children, women, girls. While I was made to watch.