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Chapter 14 We Join the Group
Over the next months, we’d covered most of the previously uncovered possibilities of couple’s sex. Beginning the night Corrine brought home a shopping bag of marital aids, we started a feverish quest to find something that produced the same level of wow we got from making porn videos for Al Quarles.
We worked our way through all the positions of the Kama Sutra I was flexible enough to attempt. Some of the position should only be attempted if you are contortionists. We followed up by exploring different kinds of fetish and role-play. I was too mature for infantilism.
We gave bondage-discipline-sado-masochism a thorough but ultimately unsatisfying examination. My cock didn’t get hard when Corrine paddled me while I was spread eagle on the bed secured by Velcro connected nylon straps unless I imagined it was Morgan or Nancy swatting my derriere. I got my rock off pretending the hard paddle was Morgan’s hand.
But in general, pain wasn’t a turn on. I can’t say the same for Corrine but the problem there was I didn’t get off on being the pain giver. She had her fastest time to orgasm ever when I applied a ridding crop to her nipples while she pressed one of those spot massagers against her vulva. The fact her eyes were closed and she kept yelling, “Harder, you black bastard,” emphasized we were not looking in the right direction.
Ultimately, role-play struck us as plain silly compared to the real life roles of porn director and fluffer for Al Quarles.
We gave up on the rest of the sexually out there menu other than one rather bizarre niche referred to as Japanese rope bondage. For some unexplained reason I found it intriguing if not overwhelmingly erotic.
I had been an Eagle Scout and a member of the Order of the Arrow so I was no stranger to knots. I could still tie a half hitch or a sheepshank. Still I was mildly surprised when Corrine emailed me the URL of a WEB site dedicated to something called Nawa Shibari along with a brief comment. “We should try it.”
I now have a box in my closet containing different colors and types of expensive hemp rope along with an assortment of bamboo poles. I even purchased a couple of how to volumes and a large book of color photos made by one of the true masters of the rope.
There are also a number of stills of Corrine in various poses that the Japanese refer to as art and I consider cock-hardening porn. I recently made a ten-minute video of her in several of the advanced poses. My favorite is of her balancing on one foot where each tiny movement caused the crotch rope to stimulate three critical points: anus, vagina, and clitoris.
I found Japanese rope bondage interesting as an exotic form of human pleasure but still didn’t quite have the kick of watching Corrine screwing Morgan or performing her fluffer duties; not to mention orally extracting the fluids found in her orifices afterwards.
After running the gamut of sexual practices, we arrived at the inescapable conclusion there was something missing. We both knew what it was. I hesitated to bring it up but Corrine didn’t. We were eating dinner at home when she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and spoke.
“I think we need to be totally honest with one another,” said Corrine making her opening gambit.
Although her remark seemed ambiguous, we both knew what she meant. I felt a sense of relief we were finally ready to discuss the matter openly still I hesitated to speak frankly. “I agree. I assume we are going to talk about sex? Because if we are, I have some things to say.”
“Of course, sex is the topic. Do you want to go first or should I?”
I poured us another glass of wine while I considered whether to start; then I gracefully wimped out. “You were the one with the courage to bring it up first so why don’t you begin.”
“I don’t miss the violence or the awful things we did to those poor women but I do miss the sex,” said Corrine in one breath.
I suppose it’s not easy for a respectable middle class white woman from a devout Lutheran family to admit to her husband she craves black cock in a group format.
“So do I,” I said. “Even though it means I’m a voyeur and bisexual and even worse.” For some odd reason, I did consider my desires worse than Corrine’s. I’m not sure why. Maybe because it involved the guilt associated with me wrapping my lips around Morgan’s cock or the feeling I got when he took hold of my balls and pressed his thumb against my sphincter.
“What do you miss the most,” asked Corrine?
I wasn’t really sure what I missed most but I opted for the safe answer, “Watching you having sex with black men then having sex with you afterwards.”
“Black men only,” asked Corrine. “That sounds so racists.”
“I know. I’m not saying I couldn’t get off watching you with an American Indian, an Oriental or even another white man but I’d prefer a black man,” I said.
“Me too, it must have something to do with historical guilt about slavery, lynching, and segregation,” said Corrine. “Who the hell knows what’s buried in our white liberal psyche? One of my ancestors was in the Klan.”
Most people associate the southern states with the Knights of the Klu Klux Klan; but the awful truth is that Indiana was the state where the Klan reached its zenith of power in the early nineteen hundreds. There was a period in this state when you couldn’t be elected dogcatcher unless you had the Klan’s endorsement. And the state had more than its share of lynchings. Still, I had no idea how this impacted our sex lives a century later.
“We’re certainly not alone. There are thousands of hardcore WEB sites featuring sex between white women and black men. So I don’t think we’re that unusual,” I said. I’d hadn’t told Corrine, three of them were charging my personal credit card $9.95 each month for the pleasure of looking at pictures and downloading video of excessively augmented blondes having intercourse with incredibly well endowed black studs.
“Weird, huh,” said Corrine. “Before we got involved with Morgan and his crew, I never gave black men much thought. Of course, I thought black movie stars and athletes were handsome but I didn’t picture myself in bed with them.”
“Black men were not in my sexual universe either,” I said. “Actually, neither were black women.”
“How do you feel about black women, now? Would you do Nancy if you had a chance?”
“Scott’s Nancy, Nancy Whitman,” I asked? The question threw me off. I suppressed my urge to say I would love to fuck Nancy. Her picture was on her firm’s WEB site. I’d jacked off looking at it imagining those full brown lips wrapped around my white cock.
“Do you know any other attractive black females named Nancy?”
“No, but your question surprised me. I suppose I would. Would you like to watch us?”
“Maybe, yes, I suppose so,” said Corrine. “I’d like to go down on her. You’re not the only bisexual in the family.”
“You had oral sex with seventeen different white females. How do you feel about that?”
“I won’t deny I liked it. You can see that on the video. I never faked an orgasm when they were eating my pussy,” said Corrine. “That brings up another sex and gender issue.”
“And that is,” I asked but I knew.
“You sucked Morgan’s cock. How did it make you feel?”
“Guilty, concerned about my sexual orientation, but I’d do it again if I had the chance. The fact I could taste your pussy on it made it so hot. If it was just Morgan and me, I’m not sure I would be interested.”
“Is that a completely truthful answer,” asked Corrine?
“Not entirely, his thumb on my butthole felt good so who knows. If Morgan had wanted to sodomize me I would have gone along because it was Morgan and he scared the shit out of me. But maybe I would have liked it and begged for more. Who the fuck knows!”
“It turns me on when I know you’re watching me having sex with black men,” said Corrine. “I’d loose all my inhibitions when I’d looked over and saw you jacking off watching me ride Morgan’s cock. It was the most intensely erotic experience of my life.”
“So we have a sexual problem that needs solving,” I said.
“I think sexual need is a more accurate term than sexual problem.”
“You’re right, of course,” I said
“Yes, so how would you summarize it,” asked Corrine who had a schoolteacher’s tendency to neatly summarize the day’s lesson. There was a certain so-what-have-we-learned-today-class tone to her voice.
I could tell from the start she was leading the conversation somewhere. I spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts before I started. “Couple’s sex has proven incapable of meeting our sexual needs. We require sexual intercourse involving others, specifically black males, possibly black females too. How am I doing so far?”
“Good, continue,” said Corrine praising her favorite student.
“I desire to watch you screwing black men and participate myself at some level. You want to have sex with black men while I watch. You find my presence and joining in adds greatly to the level of sexual intensity,” I said.
“You didn’t mention the matter of eating Morgan’s cream pie,” said Corrine being both critical and constructive.
“I wasn’t sure how it fit in plus it strikes me as unmanly and homosexual. Although it’s hard to imagine a gay man with his head buried between your legs sucking come out of your vagina,” I said acknowledging my most guilt ridden desires.
Corrine put her hand on mine and spoke. “I think it’s wonderful we can be so honest with one another about our feelings. Most couples couldn’t do that.”
I squeezed her hand before I answered. “We’ve been through a lot but we’ve stuck it out and stayed together. I love you with all my heart.”
“I love you too, darling. And I have something I want to run by you,” said Corrine.
“All right, go ahead,” I said taking a sip of wine. I was right about our discussion leading somewhere.
“Suppose there was a group or club where we could both satisfy our desires, would you be interested,” Corrine asked?
I answered without hesitating. “Yes, provided it met certain criteria.”
“What criteria?”
“Discretion and safety would be my main ones,” I said. “We are business owners whose personal reputation is closely linked to Meade Media. If word got around, we were some kind of sexual perverts; it could hurt the company with those hypocrites who spend Sunday morning at church and Sunday afternoon whacking off to Internet kiddie porn.”
“Understood, discretion is guaranteed and so is security,” said Corrine.
“So tell me,” I said not wanting to seem too eager.
“I’ve recently learned of a club for black and white couples with our type of needs,” said Corrine. “From what I’ve know, it sounds perfect for us.”
“Right here in America’s heartland,” I asked? Indianapolis wasn’t exactly Sodom or Gomorrah.
“It’s nationwide but yes, it has a local branch,” said Corrine.
“Tell me more,” I said.
“The black couples are in charge. They use us for their sexual pleasure including bisexually. It meets once a month for an orgy. We have to attend nine of the twelve parties annually to remain in the club. There’s a special party in the fall and attendance is mandatory. And once every quarter, we’re on call for black couples.”
“How do they decide who can join,” I asked? I could tell from the expression on Corrine’s face, she was more than casually interested in our joining. So far, she wasn’t the only one interested.
“Membership is by invitation only. There’s a vetting process. The local chapter is limited to forty couples; half are black and half white. No racially mixed couples are admitted. Only married couples can join and only married couples can remain as members.”
“Eighty people, not exactly small, does it have a name?”
“I’m sure it does but I don’t know it. They’re very secretive,” said Corrine.
“How did you learn about it,” I asked? Corrine had two primary sources of outside information, Planet Fitness and the Adult Store two exits away. Neither seemed a likely source of such esoteric knowledge.
“Scott told me. He and Nadine are members,” said Corrine. “In fact, he is willing to be our sponsors.”
I halted a moment to process the fact Attorney Scott McReynolds had discussed our joining a sex club with my wife and I didn’t know a damn thing about it. “Why didn’t Scott tell us both about the club?”
“I asked that question. Please don’t let his answer upset you. He said white husbands are usually willing to join but wives less willing. So if I wasn’t willing, there was no point in mentioning it to you. They try to keep the club’s existence as quiet as possible.”
“Sounds logical, I wasn’t aware you and Scott had been talking recently,” I said feeling a bit miffed. If handsome black Scott was banging Corrine, I wanted to watch and enjoy the aftermath.
“We had lunch last week,” said Corrine.
“Only lunch,” I said.
“His wife Nadine was present,” said Corrine.
“For a three way,” I asked?
“Nothing sexual happens until after we join; then we can do a three way or a four way if you like. Nadine said she has a real thing for white men, especially those who are into oral,” said Corrine. “Also Nancy Whitman and her husband, Greg, belong which means you’ll get to screw her.”
“Did you agreed to join,” I asked picturing myself between Nancy’s legs driving my dick in her hole?
“Without you, of course not, we both have to agree. Do you want some time to think about it? Scott says we have until the weekend to make up our minds.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested,” I said after hesitating long enough for Corrine to believe I was really weighting the pros and cons. Of course, I wanted to join.
“We may not get in. There’s a vetting process before a selection committee,” said Corrine.
“With your face, figure, and supercharged libido, it’s a lock. I’m the one they may not want,” I said.
“Nadine said you were hot and she was looking forward to getting to know you better,” said Corrine.
“How would she know that? We’ve never met.” I got that sentence out before I realized she’d seen me on video extracting Morgan’s come from Corrine’s vagina. “Oh, I see. So what’s the next step?”
“We spend an afternoon with the selection committee,” said Corrine.
“Doing what exactly,” I asked.
“Whatever they tell us to do, all kinds of sex,” said Corrine.
“Including gay sex,” I asked?
“Yes, but let’s call it bisexual. No one’s really gay,” said Corrine drawing a distinction some would argue with.
“So I will be sodomised,” I asked?
“Yes, both ways,” said Corrine.
“What do you mean by both ways,” I asked?
“Males are expected to be both pitcher and catcher. White club members are not allowed to discriminate based on gender; but black members can be strictly heterosexual. According to Scott, that’s the number one difficulty in finding acceptable white couples. There are lots of white couples where the husband doesn’t mind if the wife eats black pussy but he wants nothing to do with black cock.”
“Just so I’m clear on this. If a black man wants me to suck his cock or take it up my ass, I’m required to say yes,” I said.
“Right, and if he wants to suck your cock or fuck him, you’re required to oblige. And I have the same rules as you,” said Corrine. If any of this is a show stopper for you, I’ll tell Scott we aren’t interested.”
“No, I want to join.” I said with a firmness that surprised me.
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