Part 3. First edit. By Kyng Kooba. More of KK stuff on storiesonline.net.
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We returned to England a very different family. So much so that during the flight I wondered with some concern if anything would ever be the same between my wife and I again. While our young daughter Poppy played happily between us, oblivious to it all, she remained distant and pre-occupied, virtually silent throughout the journey. It was as if she was contemplating going back to our old lives and what our Kenyan holiday meant for her marriage and future. Just how would she feel when we arrived back at our home, when saw her friends again or met her parents? Would she be able to look any of the in the eye? I knew, at least on the surface she was blaming me for everything that had happened. My wedding ring was still on her finger but somehow that symbolism had been irreversibly tarnished. It was I, after all, who had first slept with one of her friends. Yet I did not feel as worried then as I did during the flight home. I had cheated out of boredom and all the usual excuses yet now, with our holiday behind us I don’t think I’d never been as attracted to Kirsten.
During our stay at the Malindi hotel and after some initial reluctance Kirsten had slept with a local man called Edamu. 'Eddy', to the tourists worked at the hotel, but was more often to be found staffing the beachside bar with his friend Mashudu and nephew Sima. I had observed very early that the bar was something of a hotspot for white, Western pussy. With some careful manipulation on my part it was only a matter of time before one of these simple yet experienced black men's sites set on my lovely English wife. Eddy had been the first to get into her married knickers. Shelving her previous inhibitions and morals Kirsten spent a night fucking the older, horny stud while I watched with glee. There was no doubt in my mind that by going through with it she had shocked and even shamed herself. Though certainly at the time Kirsten seemed to have enjoyed the whole experience far more than she would readily admit. Over the course of the holiday I had watched, more than once as Eddy eagerly ravaged her with his big African dick and even shared her with his two co-workers on the final night of our stay.
Would she miss the charismatic and extremely well hung Eddy. Or he her? From the day we had arrived in Kenya I'd been amazed by the sheer number of Western women openly parading on the beaches with local men. Some, but not all were married and Eddy, with his prime location had a well built reputation for fucking holidaymakers. Kirsten was likely just another opportunity that had come along, if a very attractive one. At thirty five, she was in her best years: stylish and upmarket with shoulder length, dark hair and a model figure. Her legs were shapely legs with rounded thighs and with a natural, 32DD chest Eddy and his friends had spied an opportunity to put our marital difficulties to the test. Would it be the last time my wife fucked black? Before leaving she sat me down and made me promise that I would never tell anyone. I thought of the image my wife and I portrayed back home and how shocked anyone would be to find out the truth, especially our family or friends. Still at the time it seemed right to agree to her request. She had gone far further than I’d ever dreamed possible.
After a month I was not alone in missing Kenya. Our old English house was adorned with the mass of African items my wife had brought home and she still talked with such enthusiasm to company about our holiday there. Sex between us was also different. Her mind distracted, almost as if I could not satisfy her the way Eddy had. I found this to be disturbing and not something I had experienced with any woman in the past. Maybe I thought that once she got home, back into a regular pattern everything would return to normal. Kirsten would not have admitted it readily but the intensity and raw power of Eddy’s eager fucking had left a hole in her mind. It had been so primal; urgent and wild. All I had other than the memories was the mobile phone video I had secretly taken during their first time together. As a twenty two second long clip it reminded me what had happened that night. After a few more weeks I posted the video on one of the internet interracial forums. Yes, it was another betrayal of her confidence but I could leave things the way they were. My post was entitled ‘British wife fucked on holiday – Kenya’ and included a short biography and the video uploaded as an attachment. Within a week the video had four hundred views and though it didn’t show Kirsten’s whole face it felt so satisfying to share.
It was several weeks later that I received an email from an unlikely source. Rick, the cuckold hubby whose wife Joanne had been my ticket into the lifestyle contacted me. They had been staying in the next room to us and I had, unashamedly followed her and Eddy up to their hotel room that second week and listened to them fucking through the wall, my pants around my ankles as I imagined my own wife performing such a duty. Luckily Rick had seen my message on the forum and from the information I had posted was about fifty percent sure of Kirsten’s true identity. Pleased that he had found me he desperately wanted to talk and gave me his phone number. When I told Rick that Eddy had fucked Kirsten only days after their leaving he roared with laughter. It was understandable considering my wife’s first, disparaging reaction when finding out about Joanne’s black cock habits.
‘I knew it’ he said of Eddy. ‘You wouldn’t believe that guys reputation’.
‘The thing is’ I said. ‘I’m finding it hard to leave it at that’.
‘She been fucked since?’ he asked.
‘No’ I replied sadly.
‘Trust me, she’s thinking about it’.
Over the following months my wife and I became distant to the point that it was picked up on by some of our family, most noticeably her father who sensed something was wrong. He called one night and spoke to me privately to ask if everything was going alright. Not wanting Kirsten to know he’d called he gave me some genuine concern as he saw the two of us drifting slowly apart. I felt something had to give and a month or so later it did. For weeks I had been planning to attend a work function that was supposed to last several days. However, I had been feeling under the weather and decided on the final morning of the conference to drive home early. It hadn't crossed my mind to let Kirsten know and after a long, morning journey I pulled into our home around one-thirty in the afternoon, tired and ready for something to eat. Parked outside our Victorian house was a small white, works van with a motif on the side relating to a local bathroom company. I didn't think too much of it at that moment. We had, the previous year, had our bathroom redone but it did seem odd my wife would have work done without even telling me. Still, it showed how little communication we had lately.
Poppy was in the lounge when her father walked in. Putting my briefcase down I stretched my back and crouched down beside my daughter, stroking he hair.
'Hi honey' I smiled, lifting her chin. She grinned up at me, sitting in the middle of a huge scattering of Lego bricks.
'Look daddy' she laughed pointing to the house she had made.
'That's lovely' I said. 'You do that all by yourself'. She beamed and nodded. 'Where's your mother?'.
'She's upstairs with George'. I stood up and frowned. The name was unknown to me. Poppy turned her attention to her creation.
'Has George been here before honey?' I asked. Something felt wrong and for a moment I felt slightly faint. Could it be?
'Uh-huh' my daughter nodded. 'George and mommy are good friends'.
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We returned to England a very different family. So much so that during the flight I wondered with some concern if anything would ever be the same between my wife and I again. While our young daughter Poppy played happily between us, oblivious to it all, she remained distant and pre-occupied, virtually silent throughout the journey. It was as if she was contemplating going back to our old lives and what our Kenyan holiday meant for her marriage and future. Just how would she feel when we arrived back at our home, when saw her friends again or met her parents? Would she be able to look any of the in the eye? I knew, at least on the surface she was blaming me for everything that had happened. My wedding ring was still on her finger but somehow that symbolism had been irreversibly tarnished. It was I, after all, who had first slept with one of her friends. Yet I did not feel as worried then as I did during the flight home. I had cheated out of boredom and all the usual excuses yet now, with our holiday behind us I don’t think I’d never been as attracted to Kirsten.
During our stay at the Malindi hotel and after some initial reluctance Kirsten had slept with a local man called Edamu. 'Eddy', to the tourists worked at the hotel, but was more often to be found staffing the beachside bar with his friend Mashudu and nephew Sima. I had observed very early that the bar was something of a hotspot for white, Western pussy. With some careful manipulation on my part it was only a matter of time before one of these simple yet experienced black men's sites set on my lovely English wife. Eddy had been the first to get into her married knickers. Shelving her previous inhibitions and morals Kirsten spent a night fucking the older, horny stud while I watched with glee. There was no doubt in my mind that by going through with it she had shocked and even shamed herself. Though certainly at the time Kirsten seemed to have enjoyed the whole experience far more than she would readily admit. Over the course of the holiday I had watched, more than once as Eddy eagerly ravaged her with his big African dick and even shared her with his two co-workers on the final night of our stay.
Would she miss the charismatic and extremely well hung Eddy. Or he her? From the day we had arrived in Kenya I'd been amazed by the sheer number of Western women openly parading on the beaches with local men. Some, but not all were married and Eddy, with his prime location had a well built reputation for fucking holidaymakers. Kirsten was likely just another opportunity that had come along, if a very attractive one. At thirty five, she was in her best years: stylish and upmarket with shoulder length, dark hair and a model figure. Her legs were shapely legs with rounded thighs and with a natural, 32DD chest Eddy and his friends had spied an opportunity to put our marital difficulties to the test. Would it be the last time my wife fucked black? Before leaving she sat me down and made me promise that I would never tell anyone. I thought of the image my wife and I portrayed back home and how shocked anyone would be to find out the truth, especially our family or friends. Still at the time it seemed right to agree to her request. She had gone far further than I’d ever dreamed possible.
After a month I was not alone in missing Kenya. Our old English house was adorned with the mass of African items my wife had brought home and she still talked with such enthusiasm to company about our holiday there. Sex between us was also different. Her mind distracted, almost as if I could not satisfy her the way Eddy had. I found this to be disturbing and not something I had experienced with any woman in the past. Maybe I thought that once she got home, back into a regular pattern everything would return to normal. Kirsten would not have admitted it readily but the intensity and raw power of Eddy’s eager fucking had left a hole in her mind. It had been so primal; urgent and wild. All I had other than the memories was the mobile phone video I had secretly taken during their first time together. As a twenty two second long clip it reminded me what had happened that night. After a few more weeks I posted the video on one of the internet interracial forums. Yes, it was another betrayal of her confidence but I could leave things the way they were. My post was entitled ‘British wife fucked on holiday – Kenya’ and included a short biography and the video uploaded as an attachment. Within a week the video had four hundred views and though it didn’t show Kirsten’s whole face it felt so satisfying to share.
It was several weeks later that I received an email from an unlikely source. Rick, the cuckold hubby whose wife Joanne had been my ticket into the lifestyle contacted me. They had been staying in the next room to us and I had, unashamedly followed her and Eddy up to their hotel room that second week and listened to them fucking through the wall, my pants around my ankles as I imagined my own wife performing such a duty. Luckily Rick had seen my message on the forum and from the information I had posted was about fifty percent sure of Kirsten’s true identity. Pleased that he had found me he desperately wanted to talk and gave me his phone number. When I told Rick that Eddy had fucked Kirsten only days after their leaving he roared with laughter. It was understandable considering my wife’s first, disparaging reaction when finding out about Joanne’s black cock habits.
‘I knew it’ he said of Eddy. ‘You wouldn’t believe that guys reputation’.
‘The thing is’ I said. ‘I’m finding it hard to leave it at that’.
‘She been fucked since?’ he asked.
‘No’ I replied sadly.
‘Trust me, she’s thinking about it’.
Over the following months my wife and I became distant to the point that it was picked up on by some of our family, most noticeably her father who sensed something was wrong. He called one night and spoke to me privately to ask if everything was going alright. Not wanting Kirsten to know he’d called he gave me some genuine concern as he saw the two of us drifting slowly apart. I felt something had to give and a month or so later it did. For weeks I had been planning to attend a work function that was supposed to last several days. However, I had been feeling under the weather and decided on the final morning of the conference to drive home early. It hadn't crossed my mind to let Kirsten know and after a long, morning journey I pulled into our home around one-thirty in the afternoon, tired and ready for something to eat. Parked outside our Victorian house was a small white, works van with a motif on the side relating to a local bathroom company. I didn't think too much of it at that moment. We had, the previous year, had our bathroom redone but it did seem odd my wife would have work done without even telling me. Still, it showed how little communication we had lately.
Poppy was in the lounge when her father walked in. Putting my briefcase down I stretched my back and crouched down beside my daughter, stroking he hair.
'Hi honey' I smiled, lifting her chin. She grinned up at me, sitting in the middle of a huge scattering of Lego bricks.
'Look daddy' she laughed pointing to the house she had made.
'That's lovely' I said. 'You do that all by yourself'. She beamed and nodded. 'Where's your mother?'.
'She's upstairs with George'. I stood up and frowned. The name was unknown to me. Poppy turned her attention to her creation.
'Has George been here before honey?' I asked. Something felt wrong and for a moment I felt slightly faint. Could it be?
'Uh-huh' my daughter nodded. 'George and mommy are good friends'.
