Faith Debased Ch. 6

Author's Comments I was recently called to task for a faux pas I made in chapter 4 concerning a woman's specific anatomy when I described Faith enviously watching Regina's Adam's Apple bob as she swallowed the majority of Cal's hot load. Now, being able to run my hand down my own throat, I am well aware of the fact that a woman does not possess this particular knot of masculine gristle in her throat. However, as I attempted to argue back to my precise-minded detractor, the vast majority of the audience, not only at ES, but almost any erotic site, is predominately male. And, since I do my best to write to the majority of my audience, the mental picture of an Adam's Apple bobbing up and down, I felt, would be a more recognizable image for the male mind, in an overheated state of bliss, to grasp than that of a woman's graceful throat working as she swallows.

I was also called on a grammatical error, one my spell check, nor I, caught. I went back and proof read the chapter for probably the tenth time, and, sure enough, I had used wonton (not once, but twice) in place of wanton; a sort of Chinese matzo soup versus a licentious adjective. Hummm…..? That does have some decidedly licentious culinary possibilities.

Anyway, let me apologize for my gross anatomical and grammatical errors, and I promise to do my very best to be more precise in my writings from here on out.

* * * * * *

Chapter 6 The Bindings that Tie

Life, for the most part, settled into its pre-interracial cumslut wife ways around the house for rest of the week. Brian went off to work every morning and I cleaned and straighten up the house to my exacting standards, then went online and came alive within the far more stimulating world of my interracial playland. I visited and masturbated until roughly an hour before my husband was due home, then locked up my private hard drive and got dinner started.

Regina came by after work Monday night, Tuesday night, and Wednesday night to assist Brian in customizing his work program. Arriving early enough all three nights "Thank God!" for us to indulge in a heated 69 or a frenzied mutual finger fucking and get cleaned up before Brian bounded though the front door.

Thursday evening, Brian got home before Regina arrived (much to the distress of horny Regina, and even hornier me) with a brand new laptop. After we three had diner, Regina helped him get set up, installed the programming necessary to execute his on site access, then showed him how to access the home computer from the field via his cell phone. While Brian remained in what he now referred to as "his office", happily playing with his new toy, I walked Regina out to her pickup. And, in the inky darkness of a cloudy, moonless night, with my hand shoved down inside her unbuttoned jeans, her hand underneath my housedress, we feverishly fingered each other to quick, and excruciatingly unsatisfying, climaxes as we heatedly kissed goodnight.

There were two things that week which were even more excruciating to me personally than the unsatisfying orgasms Regina and I'd had to be content with Thursday night. One was suffering in bed with my husband. It wasn't so much "making love" with Brian, there was still the love feeling between us, it was more to do with the fact that my husband's small white dick did less for me in five consecutive nights of "fooling around" then just one hour of being demandingly used by Cal's superior black cock.

Even more torturous was that I never once heard from Cal the entire week, not even an email. By Friday morning, I was beside myself with displaced anguish and accelerated horniness.

No sooner had I kissed my husband goodbye at the door and watched Brian back out of the driveway, then I was in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, punching Cal's work number into the speakerphone. "Oh, Cal," I gushed to his cheerful, "Good morning, Slut." The sound of his voice alone had me instantly wet. "I'm so glad I caught you in, I…

Some cool jazz as playing in the background as he gruffly demanded, "What you want, Slut?" in clipped street talk.

"You, Cal. I… I need you so... When are you…? When can I see you again?"

"You want me, or you need my big black cock filling you up?"

"Both," I choked hoarsely. "I need both so badly right now. I'm going out of my mind, Cal."

"What are you wearing, Slut?"

"My robe, slippers, panties."

"Take 'em off."

"Cal! I could be standing in the middle of the living room."

"I didn't ask where you were, Slut, I told you to get naked."

I quickly undid the sash of my robe and tossed it on the floor as I stood and skinned off my panties. "I'm naked for you now, Cal," I told him, lying down on the bed.

"Get some fingers in that nasty cunt and fuck yourself, Slut."

I thrust two fingers deep into my juice-running cunt. "I'm doing it for you, Cal," I informed him as I masturbated. "I'm fucking myself just like you want." In and out… and in and out… and in and out. "Feels sooo good, Cal." My fingers drilled my aching cunt with insane wills of their own. "But it's… it's not like being with you my… my wondrous black stud."

"Either shove the phone up against your pussy," Cal instructed over the pleading in my voice, "or stand over the nightstand, Slut. I want to hear the sounds of your fingers working that nasty cunt."

I had to be able to hear him; his deep, rich voice was my audio ticket to bliss. So, instead of standing over the nightstand, I put the speakerphone itself phone on the bed and straddled it. I lowered myself down until my drenched pussy was less then an inch above the speaker. "There, can you hear what I'm doing for you, Cal?" My cunt juice was literally drooling down onto the phone. "Can you hear my fingers plunging in and out my sloppy slut cunt?" The lewd sloshing was loud in my own ears. Cal surely had to be able to hear it.

He snickered. "Sounds like you slapping you hand in a bowl of unset Jell-O." I listened to myself masturbating. That's exactly what it sounded like. "You becomin' one hell of a juicy slut for me, ain't you, Slut?"

"God, yesssssss," I hissed. I began working my fingers faster, deeper, harder into to my steadily flowing cunt. "Your slut, Cal. I'm your cumslut… I'll always be your slut… your nasty… your nasty white…"

"Cum, Slut!" he barked and I came in a hot, liquidy rush. "Don't stop! Keep fucking that sloppy cunt. You call and interrupt me at work, you gonna fuck yourself till I've heard enough. You hear me, Slut?"

"Yess… esssss, Cal." I was driving myself right into another orgasm for him. The thought flitted through my mind to get Regina's dildo from under the mattress, but I didn't dare stop long enough to lean over and retrieve it. Cal would hear that I was no longer masturbating for him over the phone and I couldn't have that. "Ohhhhhhh, Godddddddddd!" I was shaking so hard as I climaxed again that I nearly toppled over.

Over the roaring inside my head I heard faint, indistinct voices coming through the speaker between my legs. Someone had come into the shop. "Don't you dare stop, Slut," Cal told me. "I got to see to a customer."

Like the degenerate slut I was for Cal, I helplessly continued to vigorously masturbate while my absent listener saw to business. I made myself cum three more times and was on the verge of spurting my hot cunt juice all over the speakerphone once again when Cal's voice--assailing me from between my trembling, cum-streak legs like a dark malevolent specter--sharply demanded, "Cum, Slut!"

I cried out and obediently came on command, my scalding cum spewing from my convulsing cunt like an open fire hydrant. The speakerphone between my quaking legs--now slimy with my copious cunt-juice--went silent with dead air. That "FUCKING BLACK ASSHOLE!" had hung up.

That was when I realized that my black possessor, Cal Saul, owned me. Because, if he had called right back and told me to masturbate over the phone for him for the rest of the day, I'd have done it without any hesitation.

* * * *

Regina pulled in right behind Brian that evening and he dragged her by the hand into the house. "Get dressed, Babycakes," he shouted. "Fancy dress, pantyhose, heels, the works. We're going out to celebrate. Gonna paint this town red, drinks, diner, more drinks…"

"Whatever are you babbling about?" I asked.

Brian grinned like an organ grinder's monkey. "I'll tell you over dinner." He turned to Regina, who was looking nervously out of place. "That means you, too, assistant. You're as much a part of what's happened as I am. As much as Babycakes is."

Neither I, nor Regina could pull anymore from him, and while I hurried off to the bedroom to get all dolled up, Regina left to do her own makeover.

Rather then return to the house, Regina met us at the restaurant and all eyes in the place…men and women's alike…followed her as she gracefully swayed across the crowed room to our table. In a throat to ankle Mandarin sheath of red and black brocade silk--fitting her lush figure like a second skin and slit up the side nearly to her naked hipbone--and three inch black suede heels, her raven hair a lustrous cascade over her squared shoulders, Regina had transformed herself from the vaguely dyke Phone lady she presented at work into a ravishing vixen. God, I wanted to take her in my arms, kiss her passionately and then announce to the crowded room that this was my alluring vixen, my ravishing, raven-haired, Greek goddess, and that none of them could ever have her. Only me. But, I managed to hold the insane urge in check. But just barely.

Only after we all were holding drinks in our hands--champagne cocktail for Regina, white wine for me and a whiskey sour for my mysterious husband--would Brian finally let us in on what the hell was going on. "A toast," he said, triumphantly lifting his glass. "To WhiteLite, long may it prosper."

Brian tossed back half his glass in a grandiose salute. Regina and I more sedately sipped our drinks. "Okay, King of the Mountain," I said, setting down my fluted glass, "how about spilling the beans to us minions."

Brian tossed down the rest of his drink and signaled a nearby waitress for refills all around. "The owners came by today. They liked what I've done. The wife couldn't stop 'Oooooooing' and 'Ahhhhhhing' all over the place. The guy, he had had no earthly idea what he was looking at, but he kept nodding and agreeing. Anyway, they were so impressed, they've given me the job of overseeing the completion of their mountain retreat." The drinks arrived and Brian downed half of his and told her to bring another round. "I'll have the last word, the only word, on what's done and how it's to be done. In two words, I'll be 'The Man' on site."

This would be Brian's big break. And he had every right to celebrate. The house he had been working on was in the modest seven-figure range and he had told me that the place these people were building in the mountains was worth twice as much. If everything went smooth, like clockwork, was finished on time, with no, or at least minimal, cost over runs, WhiteLite Finish Carpentry Inc. would be set, on its way. It would be an established firm with impeccable references.

I was happy for him. I truly was. I laid my hand on top of my husband's, picked up my glass, and reached over and tapped it against Regina's. "To WhiteLite," I toasted, and did my best to ignore the playful kick in the ankle I got under the table from my smirking, ravishing lesbian goddess.

We had more drinks, a sumptuous diner, and then more drinks while Brian filled us in on the details. The sprawling, three-story "retreat", built from massive, hand-hewn logs, was close to three quarters finished, but the present foreman's "unforeseen" cost over runs were getting seriously out of hand. It would be Brian's job to get things back under control. And, finish on time. Accomplish this minor double miracle, and WhiteLite Finish Carpentry Inc. would get recommendations up the wazzoo.

There was only one catch; Brian would have to be on site at the crack of dawn and not leave there until he had triple checked every little thing that had been done that day. It would mean a three and a half hour drive from our house to the site every morning, then another three and a half hours back home at night, on top of a ten to twelve hour day in between, leaving roughly five hours in which to do any updating of the company files and get some sleep. Then, get up and do it all over the following day. Six days a week, probably seven.

There was only one sensible solution: buy a camper trailer that could double as the construction office, and live on site until the job was finished. "What do you say, Babycakes? Be like a second honeymoon. A honeymoon up in the mountains, just you and me there at night. There's a secluded lake up there… we could go skinny dippin' in the moonlight... fool around under the stars… no worries about someone catching us making love in the outdoors like a couple of insatiable minks?"

The romance of the idea was an alluring hook, and, if the exotic scenario had consisted off me with Cal and Regina, I would have jumped on it in a flash… even with its serious drawbacks. Like, swimming bare-ass naked in a frigid lake, shivering uncontrollably while trying to suck and fuck like ravenous wild animals underneath a cold autumn moon.

On top of having to live in the cramped quarters a camper trailer would provide, while my conscientious husband oversaw every minute detail in the completion of his benefactor's palatial retreat, there would be no TV up there; I wouldn't be able to come alive in my private playland--Brian's laptop was not programmed to access my hidden hard drive, and for a month to six weeks, maybe even longer, I would be deprived of my demanding black possessor's wondrous, far superior, cock. Cal would be deprived of his obedient cumslut's servicing. Regina might--though highly doubtful--find some other lucky slut to share her abundant lesbian affections with…

"Think I'll pass, Honey," I condescendingly informed him. "Pleasant as you make it all sound, I think I'll stay behind this trip. Maybe I'll knit you nice sweater for Christmas while you're gone." This was a crock of pure feminine bullshit. Back then I came off as being the "happy homemaker", but I hated knitting, and crocheting, and needlepoint. I still do.

"But," Brian protested, "that means you'll be home all alone, all day and all night, I won't even be able to make it home weekends, and I don't like leaving you alone like that for so long."

Oh, I wouldn't be alone; I would have plenty of company while my husband was out of town. I'd have plenty of big, hard, black cock and lots of hot wet pussy to revel with wild abandon in while my dear sweet husband was miles and miles and hours out of the way.

"I might have a partial solution to the problem," Regina offered. "The place I'm living now, the landlord wants to almost double the rent next month, for a converted garage, no less. I could tell him to stick it in his greedy ass and move into the spare bedroom, least until the job's finished.' She flashed me a knowing smile. "Then, Faith wouldn't be alone at night."

Regina might have looked like a ravishing goddess, but underneath that sultry exterior lurked the soul of a true alleycat; quick to pounce on an opportunity--a golden-haired opportunity in this case; quick to capitalize on an opponent's weakness without mercy. God, how I loved her lasciviously devious feline soul.

Over his twelfth or fourteenth whiskey sour, Brian mulled the partial solution over in his mind. "If you're really set on not going, Babycakes," he said, his speech slightly slurred, "then, I guess Regina's offer is the best we can do."

"Oh, yes," I agreed, doing my very best to keep the excitement out of my voice. Regina and I had both slipped our heels off and were playing foot tag under the table. "Regina's kind offer is the very best I can do."

Brian wanted to go clubbing after diner, but from the numerous drinks he had consumed over that celebration feast, he was really in no shape go anywhere but straight home and into bed, let alone drive home. Regina promptly took his keys and drove us home. We hadn't gotten more than three blocks from the restaurant and my inebriated, celebratory husband was already snoring on my shoulder.

Regina helped me get him into the house, down the hall, and flopped on the bed. We struggled, but managed to get him undressed and the bed turned down. Looking down at him, lying there sprawled out, utterly dead to the world and snoring loudly, Regina pulled the waistband of his briefs out and smirked. "It's got to get bigger when he gets excited."

"Not much," I tittered and took her hand. "Let's leave little WhiteLite to sleep off his celebration and see what we can come up with for a suitable nightcap. Something hot and wet sounds Oooooh so delicious right now."

"Got it hot and ready for you, Faith," she told me as I closed the bedroom door. "Been brewing ever since we started playing footsie at the restaurant."

"My pussy started percolating the instant I saw you enter the restaurant." I turned and melded my body to Regina's. "God, you're sexy."

"And you're the most delectable piece of ass I've ever known." She pushed me up against the wall and kissed me hard, severely and demanding, forcing her tongue into my mouth, repeatedly thrusting it to the back of my throat time and time again, her sensuous body grinding against my own. God, she was getting me hot, ten, twenty times hotter then I already was for her.

Regina grabbed my hand and yanked me across the hall. She spun me onto the bed in the guestroom then closed and locked the door behind her. She turned and leered at me. "Get undressed."

I blinked up at her. "Aren't you…? Aren't we going to…?"

"I said get undressed," There was detectable arousal in her voice, but it was also firm and controlled. She leaned back against the door. "And do it slow, give me a sexy striptease." This was kinky and I started to slide off the bed to comply with her salacious wishes. "No, stay on the bed," she instructed, "do your enticing striptease for me on your knees."

I rose to my knees and with saucy smile on my moistened lips, I began moving to the burlesque stripper music playing inside my head. I slowly unzipped the side of my dress then shrugged it off my shoulders. I teasingly worked my slip up and over my head and off my arms. I held it coquettishly gathered in front of me, moving it aside and then pulling back to give my kinky audience a quick peek at my brassier.

I coyly toyed with the straps of my bra, then slid my hands around to the back and undid the two hooks from their eyes, wishing I had been wearing something far sexier than my bland, white, housewife brassier for Regina's entertainment. I held the cups against my small breasts, winked at her, then flung the needless bra away. I cupped my tits and arched my back to invitingly present them to her. I tweak my nipples between my thumbs and fingers. They were already hard, but they became even harder under her steady gaze, aching with heated arousal for the intimate caress of her lush lips and the warmth of her sucking mouth.

I brought my slip back up and hid my tits from her. Then, never allowing Regina to get a real good look, I ran the slip up and down the front of me, suggestively caressing my naked tits and engorged nipples with the slippery silk, then shoved it and my dress down onto the bed around my knees.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistbands of my pantyhose and panties and slowly--very stripper like, eased them down over my rotating hips. Down to just where my pubic hair would begin to show, then back up a little. Back down a bit more next time, then up a little, until at last my panties were a wad of cloth above my knees and my bared pussy was on unobstructed display. I shoved the useless cloth the rest of the way down, lifted one knee at a time to get my twisted panties and pantyhose all the way off, then scooted them and my dress and slip off the bed.