Nigella Bears Fruit

On the second Friday of the month, we go to the Knightsbridge flat for a bit of relaxation. We have a bath in the master bedroom; if I give Nigella until 9pm, she'll be in the bath and soaping herself when I arrive.

When I say in the bath I don't refer to mere ablutions; she'll be in the bath with hair and nails perfect, and in full makeup. She does this to excite me, and it works. A glass of Pinot Noir is in her hand and a giggle in her eye. We occasionally fuck, it's true, but in general we've moved beyond that to something more intense; mutual playing. She'll shift her position in the bath, reaching across to a small table for her cigarettes. Contrary to her wholesome image, she loves to smoke and the strong, smooth taste of More 120s, and will smoke luxuriously when she masturbates. I ache to see her on the cover of Red with one of the slim, brown cigarettes poised delicately between her fingertips, eyes narrowed as creamy smoke drifts from those photogenic lips.

But, alas, it's all for us. It arouses her; she says dragging deeply and slowly releasing the smoke intensifies her orgasm by 100%. As you see, she's quite dedicated to pleasure. And, as I'm sure you can imagine, watching her in the bath, soaped up, made up, smoking and masturbating is entertaining for me, too...

Tonight is slightly different; second Friday of the month, it's also my birthday. I expect great things as I drive back from the city. The maid has been dismissed early and I let the driver go as well. I take off my jacket and go through to the bathroom to be greeted by the wonderful sight of a hot bath ready for a naked Nigella.

I note she's wearing my favourite shade of Arden lipstick; she's standing opposite me with the bath between us, and she slowly unties the belt of her robe, ostentatiously allowing it to fall open and her wonderful, world famous boobs to spill out as she reaches down to turn off the taps. The sight of her big, brown aureoles never fails to raise a drop of pre-ejaculate for me; she doesn't leave it to chance, though, fixing me with a doe-eyed look, her parted lips revealing those slightly uneven teeth.

She comes around to my side of the bath, turning her back and allowing the towelling robe to slide off her shoulders onto the floor before stepping into the bath and settling with a sigh. "I have a real treat for you tonight, darling. A real, naughty treat..."

What I have seen already is lovely, and I'd be more than happy for the evening to end in the usual way for us. But I know she has other plans; the look on her face can only be described as sly. "Darling, could you please open the door, and tap on the door of the park bedroom?"

"Why?" I do as she asks, my mind confused, and step back into the bathroom. To my complete surprise, I'm followed by two heavily muscled black men in wearing some of our white towelling robes. I must have looked angry. "Who are these men? What are they doing in my flat?"

They slowly walked over to stand either side of the bath. One of the men- over six feet tall and slim, with a neatly trimmed beard- acknowledges me with a slight nod, while the other- heavily muscled and clean shaven- fixes his eyes on Nigella. "This is Raoul," she indicates the tall man, "And this is Tracey. Don't worry," she breathes. "Just relax..."

She glances at each of them in turn, slowly trailing her fingertips through the suds describing circles around her nipples. The pouting of her lips is having the desired effect; the sheer size of their cocks starts to become apparent as, like my wife, they untie their robes and let them slide off their shoulders, their dark bodies gleaming with oil.

The water makes a quiet splash. She sits up; her eyes are fixed on mine as she reaches out with both hands. My mouth hangs open, dry. We have talked about this, in fun I thought. Her eyes plead with me to let her do this. She starts to work on them. Her hands languidly stroke the undersides of their shafts, her palms applying enough friction to draw Raoul's foreskin back, exposing his engorged glans; she gently cups the heavy mass of their scrotums before gripping the entire circumference of each cock, slowly bringing the pressure of her exquisitely manicured hands towards the head. I note she's purposely not allowing her hands to loosen and the net result after a few such strokes is to draw them closer to her.

The contrast of her plump white body with the rigid, chiselled dark brown of theirs is breathtaking; it's not difficult to understand the appeal of interracial pornography, even without the social aspects. She smiles at me; I wonder at her confidence and the skill of her hands. Did she ever host two lovers at once? It now seems likely. The tips of their cocks are now just a few inches from her mouth. Her challenging gaze tells me what is about to happen. "Oh, God," I breathe. In the blink of an eye, the moment has passed; she has the head of Tracey's cock in her mouth. She continues to slowly stroke Raoul, but she's concentrating to her left, vigorously mouthing and wanking Tracey. He begins to respond, his head back and mouth open as she works him. As his breathing becomes deeper, she does something that really surprises me. Even in the context of her current behaviour, it hits me like a physical jolt.

She disengages her mouth from his cock and kneels up, turning towards Raoul. Her knees are apart; her glistening, wet, exposed rump can only send one message to Tracey- to fuck her. She looks at me. I freeze. We never talked about this; there was an abstract understanding that she liked black men physically, and I concurred regarding the aesthetic potential of such a union and its possibility at some unspecified time in the future, but she's given me no warning. She's not taking birth control pills; she knows that I know, and her look seems to convey this instantly. There is a brief moment when I could voice my objections, but it passes, and he penetrates her. His length takes several seconds to sink into her and her eyes and held breath are unable to hide the thrill.

My knees buckle. I realise I've been standing until now and I sink into the leather armchair where I have sat, on so many occasions, to watch her innocently explore her body. But this is so different; this is pornography, with my wife, my wholesome, sainted domestic goddess, a willing participant.

Tracey starts to fuck her. She initially whimpers and I can't blame her- his cock is fully twice the length of mine, and a lot thicker- but within seconds she's responding, rhythmically pushing back to meet his thrusts. She has Raoul in her mouth, now; if anything, his cock is an inch longer. It's obvious she is approaching orgasm; ridiculous to even imagine a hot-blooded woman like Nigella could be in this situation and not be. Her body, her imagination, her sheer wantonness are thriving and her skin glows with lust.

She grips the rim of the bath, her hands just apart far enough to allow her boobs to swing back and forward as she is fucked. I can't help picturing the head of Tracey's cock; it must be forcing her cervix to spread with each push. Suddenly he starts to speed up, gasping noisily; Raoul has to push on her shoulders to keep him from fucking her right out of the bath. Nigella squeals, and with his final push Tracey holds his complete length in her, his balls visibly spasming his spunk deep inside my wife. She reaches back and pushes on the top of his thigh, encouraging him to relax and resume his rhythmic sliding in and out of her.

Nigella's hands and mouth are working their slutty magic, and Raoul is nearing his own climax. She pops him out of her mouth smiling up at him briefly before turning to me and asking, softly "in my mouth?"

Time seems to stand still. I can't believe I'm being considered; my mouth and tongue are so dry I can hardly speak, but I hear myself saying the words.

"No. Turn around."

With a look of such girlish submission I can picture it now, she turned to face Tracey, and within seconds, the scene is repeated as she presents her swollen cunt to Raoul. His complete physical ownership of her and the violent, surging torrent of cum as he inseminates her, prompts a vivid, shuddering orgasm, and a second flood of spunk from Tracey that Nigella's romantic mouth simply can't contain, the excess dripping from her chin into the bathwater. I stare in disbelief, barely able to comprehend the scene acted out so clearly in my own room. Within a few seconds, both men put their robes back on and disappear (I later earned this was a condition of the deal) and Nigella sinks back into the bath. Emotionally exhausted, I close my eyes and sleep.

It feels like hours but I realise it must have been a minute at the most; the click of Nigella's lighter has woken me with a start. Her robe is back on and she stands at the window with her back to me, and an arm across her chest; her right fingertips hold her cigarette inches from her lips, a thin line of blue smoke threading upwards from its ashy tip. I hear a slight, girlish sob, and I'm on my feet instantly, my head swimming.

She mumbles something. "What?"

"I can't believe I just did that..."

She's crying; there are trails of mascara down her cheeks, her eyes puffy. Her mouth seems even wider and, despite my better nature, unbelievably inviting, and I feel myself start to become erect. She shakes her head, snorting a short laugh. "I can't believe I just did that."

Suddenly she picks up a small mirror and hurls it at the wall, where it shatters noisily. "WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING STOP ME?"

"Darling, I..."

She's in my arms now, sobbing again. I struggle for a grip on reality but it's difficult to find words of solace. Based on what I've just witnessed, in nine months' time Nigella Lawson, poster girl for the aspirant middle classes and internationally-famous domestic goddess, will give birth to a black baby, while married to a famous, and famously Caucasian, international financier. Will it be enough to see our baby, and always be reminded that we shared the most amazing, exciting and erotic experience it's possible to comprehend?

Only time will tell.