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A Black wife/White husband cuckold story.

Promises had been to Annette, and Joelle deserved better than an eternity with him.

Lucien had no desire to release her, if they could linger there forever, consumed by one another, he would gladly make whatever sacrifices necessary. But when her body began to grow weak between his arms, he pulled himself free.

Wrapping her in towels, Lucien laid her decimated body on the bed and tenderly kissed her mouth. As he toweled off, she stared in awe at his body. Perhaps it was the glistening water on his skin or perhaps it was the lighting, whatever the reason, it felt as if she were seeing him for the first time.

The tight, lean muscles of his chest extended gracefully into the belts of sinew that defined his abdomen. The raw, powerful musculature of his arms melded seamlessly into imposing shoulders and a broad chest. The taut skin of his thighs wrapped tightly around the perfection of its thews, drawing the eye to the exceptional gift cradled between them.

"What did you take from me this time?" she asked, knowing that he fed on the pieces of her soul she no longer desired.

"Despair," he noted triumphantly.

"That was a pretty sneaky trick Lucien," she scolded. Certainly it was the best sex she'd ever had in her entire life, but it was still underhanded.

"Thank you," he chuckled.

"You called me your girlfriend," she asserted, pulling from the bed and wrapping herself in a towel.

"Yes, I seem to recall that," pleasantly he offered.

"Did you mean it?" Her eyes narrowing as she glared.

"Though I am not certain what that entails, I believe I do," he asserted.

"Oh." She rocked back on her heels, astonished by the revelation.

"Come back," he requested confidently.

"You hurt me. You don't do that to your girlfriend," she scolded.

"It won't happen again. Come back."

With a defeated sigh, Joelle finally relented and spoke four words that utterly stunned and confused Lucien. "I belong to you," she muttered.

A cock of his head solidified his state of puzzlement.

"Not as a possession or a plaything," she clarified, "You own a piece of me now, just as I own a piece of you."

Lucien wasn't certain how exactly she knew that, but it was certainly true. Joelle did own a piece of him now, but that fact would, in all likelihood prove disastrous for both of them.

"I am so very sorry," anemically he offered.


Over the course of the week, an all consuming ache filled Joelle's body, coupled with a ravenous hunger that never seemed to wane. It was her intention to tell Lucien about it, but she was concerned that if he knew, he might find other methods to satiate himself. Though he'd told her there was no way she could sustain him, she still held out hope that she could. So she ignored the ache and hoped that it would simply go away. But it didn't, and she was beginning to feel sick.

"Eating again?" Lucien asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Eggs," she confirmed, "and you?"

"You," he purred as he slipped his hands beneath her skirt. After last night she must have been famished, but then again, so was he. With a swift tug, he freed her from the fabric and carried her to the kitchen table.

"They say that," she gasped as his fingers slipped inside.

"Yes?" He smiled as her eyes softly closed.

"Relationships..." she gasped again as his thumb rolled against her clit.

"What about them?" Lucien's smile broadened as her mouth flew open.

"That start with such... oh." Her body trembled as he reached her g-spot.

"With such what?" His tongue teased her nipples.

"In-ten-sity... oh, my god," she gushed.

"Trust me, he has nothing to do with this. Go on -- you left off at intensity," he purred, tickling her g-spot with his long fingers.

"Burn out quickly," she blurted as she bore down against his hand.

"Is that what they say?" He laid her back against the table and slid her hips over the edge. "And what do you say?" Lucien knelt between her legs and enjoyed the fruits of his labor.


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