You should first read or re-read the original story, "Match Maker." MATCH MAKER 2 by C. Lakewood Up until recently, my life had been fairly conventional. I'd been a high school teacher for 9 years before finally realizing last year that I was just not cut out for it. So now, at age 32, I was a contented, stay-at-home, suburban housewife. Chris, my husband, makes pretty fair money (in addition to a sizable sum he inherited). He teaches in high school and is well-suited to it. We have no kids -- Chris is infertile -- and that's fine...ideal, in fact. Our relationship is okay. The lovey-dovey "honeymoon period" lasted just less than a year, but we settled into a comfortable rut. Along the way I'd also come to think of my husband as basically just "okay" -- comfortable, but often...well, inadequate. And then, one rainy morning in late April, I discovered Chris's secret, and things changed.... ****************************** I sat there for a while, letting my temperature and respiration gradually return to normal. It took me a couple of moments to realize that I'd been massaging my pussy right through my shorts and panties...and that the latter were embarrassingly soggy. I found it all powerfully exciting. And I thought long and hard about Chris and me. Obviously, judging from the quantity of those Xeroxed letters -- and the consistency of their theme -- this was an important fantasy for Chris. But did he ever want to take it beyond fantasy? Would he really want to turn me into a promiscuous slut? Has he ever tried to "set up" an "occasion" for me to be unfaithful, and it just never worked out? We had planned to attend that big convention in San Diego in mid-June. It would be packed with people...with men. I wondered if Chris had made any plans he hadn't shared with me.... Or was I becoming delusional? In the end, I made sure that the binder and its contents were exactly as before. And I decided just to act as if I'd never seen it...to continue being the oblivious housewife.... Outwardly. ****************************** The next day after my discovery of my husband's secret stash of wife-watching letters, I returned for a second look. I spent all morning reading and masturbating, and, by noon, I'd realized that I'd be doing this often...and, to minimize my risk, should have my own copies. It took me a long time at the copy-shop to repro everything. In the process, I saw that the publication dates (which Chris had thoughtfully noted) stopped abruptly three years ago. We had been married for almost six years, so his fetish had continued well past our wedding...and then apparently stopped. Or had it? Three years ago.... That was when we got our new, more powerful PC and began accessing the Internet. Accordingly, I snooped around on our PC. All seemed okay, except for one folder (innocuously named "Watch") that was password-protected. After trying birthday and anniversary dates and a few seemingly appropriate words, all without success, I sought advice at the nearest electronics store, Video Village. I wound up buying a program called "Web-Eye," that was supposed to be an "undetectable keyboard monitoring tool" that recorded passwords, URLs, e-mails, chats...everything. And it worked. ****************************** By means of the Web-Eye, I was able to discover the password to the suspect folder, and inside I found a cornucopia of goodies. There were more letters, of course (scanned now instead of photocopied). There were pictures (usually of white women and non-white men). There were a number of porno sites. And, perhaps most interesting, evidence that Chris had acquired an e-mail account with "juiceemail.com" under the alias "Tom Peeper" and joined a Whoopee! group called "Shared_Wives." After I got my own "juiceemail" account -- as "Wanda B Watched" -- I joined "Shared_Wives," too, and spent a couple of days reading the archived messages. It was a fascinating collection, and, of course, I found the messages posted by "Tom Peeper" particularly compelling. But I soon decided that I wanted to take an active part, and, to do that, I should also have a male persona. I went through the process a second time and created "Hawkeye," a supposed 46-year-old man from California. "Hawkeye" posted a few times on the group's message board, and then sent "Tom Peeper" an e-mail. The two then began a XXX correspondence...chiefly about wife-watching, of course. Chris soon began discussing his schemes with his new friend, asking for comments and suggestions. Gradually, a plan was formed, involving fixing me up with his boss, the new principal. Since the man was black -- and I was something of a racist -- Chris was worried that the risk here would be prohibitive. (That gave me pause. "Racist"? Me? I thought about that. While it was true that I considered blacks in general to be inferior to most whites socially and intellectually, I rated them superior in many physical and...well...sexual attributes. But that pretty much balanced out, didn't it? Racist? No. "Pragmatic," yes. "Realistic," yes. Hardly racist, though.) My fingers were playing furiously with my pussy, and I was breathing hard. (The very idea of Chris wanting to set me up with a BLACK man...! It was revolting! Yet...it was also intriguing.... I mean, if Chris would do THAT, he'd stoop to anything. Maybe it could be to my advantage to set a trap for him....) "Hawkeye" answered Chris that, if his wife did put out for a nigger, then Chris would know that she'd do just about anything. The trick would be to arrange it so that, if the plan fell through, she wouldn't suspect a set-up. He also asked about the principal. "Tom Peeper" replied that there was no problem there. The man -- his name was "Lyle" -- was unmarried and had what appeared to be a very strong sex drive and a liking for white pussy. He always seemed to get a large lump in his pants, for example, whenever he observed white girls in mini-skirts or short-shorts. Other than the size of his cock, though, he was rather unprepossessing.... Chris went on to describe Lyle, and it was disappointing. I guess I was hoping for a Denzel Washington, a Dennis Haysbert, or a young Jim Brown...but this guy sounded like a middle-aged Fat Albert. On the other hand, I wasn't planning on letting him do anything, anyway, so what did it matter? And so we -- Tom and Hawkeye -- spun our web.... ****************************** I admit that I had only a hazy sort of idea what I was going do to Chris once his perversion was exposed. I mean I could divorce him and get a huge settlement...or I could just trap him in a wife-dominated marriage and let him squirm for the rest of his life.... But I could decide that later. Meanwhile, it was too much fun playing Hawkeye and encouraging, prodding, and bullying him into finalizing his plans for cuckolding himself. Besides, the process WAS arousing and the basis for many dirty fantasies.... ****************************** Chris made the first overt move when he suggested that it might be good politics to begin socializing a bit with Lyle Gorch, the principal of the school Chris had been transferred to last fall. Dinner sometime soon, perhaps.... I was, of course, all in favor, and so he arranged things for the following week-end. "Wear that black dress that I like so much," he said. Of course he liked it. It was very short and form-fitting, and its spaghetti straps pretty much precluded a bra. Since I had a nice golden tan, I went bare legged and wore black patent high-heeled sandals. My auburn hair was up; my makeup was dramatic; my jewelry was green topaz set in yellow gold. I thought I looked like a sophisticated slut. Chris thought my appearance was "perfect...very classy...." ****************************** We picked Lyle up at his house and continued on to the club. I was pleased to see that the man -- though balding, overweight, and at least ten years older than Chris and me -- was not really as repulsive as Chris had led me to believe. (Indeed, he might have been Ving Rhames's slightly uglier brother.) And he was practically salivating from the moment he first saw me. (And, though my name is "Susan," he persisted in calling me "Suzy," which I loathe. I tolerated it, though, because I didn't want to bring down the mood of the evening.) The club was dimly lit, and we were sitting at a banquette table, with Chris to my left and Lyle to my right. So as not to waste time, I flirted with Lyle just a little. And "just a little" turned out to be more than enough. He didn't really need much encouragement. We ordered drinks, were served, and had begun to study our menus, when I felt Lyle's thick-fingered left hand drop onto my bare right thigh. I managed to stifle a gasp. As he nonchalantly sipped his mojito, his fingers slowly crept up my thigh until he could touch the lacy fabric of my panties. (How could Chris want to give me to this ape? But he would PAY.... They would BOTH pay.) We ordered and then chatted briefly, until Chris rose, announced that he had to make a phone call, and hurried off, leaving Lyle and me alone at the table. He leaned back and smiled confidently. "Chris is a lucky man," he said. "You are a VERY attractive woman, with wit and charm, too." I thought I'd help things along a bit. "Sometimes...well, Chris doesn't seem really...um...'appreciative,'" I said, with almost a pout. "Maybe he needs testosterone pills or something." "Ah! Yes, he DOES seem...'soft.' Maybe you need someone who will appreciate you for the woman you are.... AND, at the same time, someone who is...shall we say...a 'leader'?" "Do you...have s-someone in mind?" I murmured. My voice was breathy and inviting. "Yes," he answered calmly and worked his fingers inside my panties. A sexual shiver ran through me. "Please...," I whispered ambiguously. His fingers were resting on my pussy -- which was now drooling freely. He moved his hand up and down, his knuckles gently stroking me. I gasped. I could feel my labia opening like the petals of a flower.... And he could feel it, too. "What do you call this hole?" he murmured. "P-pussy...." He tickled my clit, leaned close, and whispered, "No. It's a 'cunt.' You have a 'cunt,' Suzy. Say it." "I...I have a-a.... Oh, it's such a dirty word." "Nevertheless...." "I-I-I ha-have a...a cunt...." "And that cunt ought not to be covered. Tonight you will shave both your cunt and ass-crack, but, right now, I want your panties." His voice was smug and assured. "Y-yes...sir...." (Okay, I had rapidly transitioned from wily vamp to helpless plaything, but why was I calling him "sir"?) "Lift up," he ordered and tugged on my panties. "Chrissy will be back soon." Chrissy. I lifted myself off the seat a bit, and he pulled my panties down to my knees, letting them slither down my calves to my ankles. Without attracting attension, he managed to bend below the level of the table and adroitly slip them off my feet. (I guessed he'd done this manoeuvre before.... With how many women, I wondered.) He put the panties in his pocket, and, a moment later, Chris-sy returned. Almost immediately our salads appeared. I really don't remember much about the food or the meal-time conversation, but I guess I got through things okay. I mean, I was sitting there, naked under my dress, while my husband's boss played with my...my cunt and my husband just sat there, feeding his face and spouting what must have been inanities. Finally, the meal ended, and, after draining his coffee cup, Lyle announced it was time to go down to the lounge for drinks and dancing. ****************************** Downstairs the lighting was even dimmer. After we found a table, Chris volunteered to get the drinks while Lyle and I did some dancing. The center of the dance floor was marginally better lit than the rest of the lounge, but of course Lyle steered us over to a dark corner. Without hesitation, he reached under my dress and up between my legs. His fat fingers groped for my...cunt, and, as if in a trance, I slid my legs apart. My cunt was still wet from all the attention it had received upstairs, and being out in public, with no underwear on, dancing with a black man was itself so damned exciting.... I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift on the moment. But then Lyle moved my right hand down until it was brushing his left thigh.... Oh my god! I felt his...oh, god! It was massive! "Unzip me, reach in, and play with it," he whispered. It was an order, not a request. I did as he said and worked my hand into his trousers and then into his underpants -- finally touching his cock. My trembling fingers stroked its rigid length and cupped the huge, velvety head. I tried to envision how big the thing must be.... At least nine inches long...AT LEAST. Chris's penis was about half that. Chrissy. Chrissy's penis, Lyle's cock. I realized that I wanted to SEE it. But I imagined that Lyle was intending me to see it, and soon. To see it, to...to TASTE it.... I hated doing that with Chris...Chrissy. Fortunately, he didn't expect me to do it too often.... And semi-annually would have been too often. Well, I might give Lyle a hand-job just to advance the program -- but that's all. And it wouldn't be tonight. Lyle abruptly told me to take my hand away; he didn't want to cum in his pants. ************************************ Lyle was moving his finger sensuously around inside my cunt and then in and out. I was wriggling happily on that finger, when he slid a second one into me...into my cunt. Then a third went in. They were thick, those fingers, and were filling me up, but they were going in so easily because my cunt was producing so much juice. I would certainly never have let Chrissy do what Lyle was doing to me in public. In fact, I wouldn't even let Chris do it anywhere outside the bedroom. My heart was beating wildly, my breathing was shallow and rapid, I was sweating and dizzy, and my mind was a-whirl. I closed my eyes and climaxed...hard. But Lyle wouldn't let me enjoy it long. He danced me back to where Chrissy waited with our drinks. I slumped into my chair, half-exhausted, and gulped a third of my highball. They alternated dancing with me the rest of the evening -- with Lyle getting the majority of the time. During what turned out to be our last dance, Lyle made me promise to "compensate" Chrissy. "How, exactly?" I asked. "You decide," he said with a wink. ****************************** In the end, after making plans "to do it again," we dropped Lyle off and went on home. I was tired, and Chrissy was tipsy, but I supposed that I was committed to "compensate" him, somehow, so I went on into the bedroom and hurried out of my dress and sandals. What was I going to do? I could have simply done nothing, but I didn't want to sabotage the set-up. I wasn't, however, going to give much in the way of "compensation." Hmmmm.... Just then, Chrissy wobbled into the bedroom, and I caught him as he was gaping at me, yanked down his trousers and shorts, and gave my conniving husband the hand-job of his dreams. It took a long time because of the effect of the alcohol he'd drunk, and also I'd get him all worked up...then let him cool off...over and over. I teased his tiny cock and tender balls with the soft pads of my fingers, alternating with my crimson-lacquered nails. When he finally did cum, he erupted like Krakatoa. (I guess he'd been saving up for a while.) It was actually a fun process, and, I must admit, part of the time I was imagining I was doing it with Lyle.... Not, of course, that Lyle was really any less reprehensible than Chrissy. They both were pigs. Besides, fantasizing is not like committing real adultery...or suborning it. Is it? ****************************** Chrissy fell asleep quickly -- only half-undressed, but with a stupid grin on his face. I went into the bathroom and, with only a few misgivings, shaved my "cunt and ass-crack." ****************************** In the morning, Chrissy "reminded" me that he was flying off to California that day on a week-long research trip funded by the school board. He and Lyle apparently had discussed it during dinner, but I had no recollection of it. I was able to make some vague, ambiguous noises, however, that made it sound like I was up to speed on the subject. What I did remember was Hawkeye's suggestion that "Tom" find some excuse to leave town for a while. That this trip was according to plan was confirmed a moment later, when Chrissy mentioned that Lyle had volunteered to keep me entertained. (And the pervert said it with a perfectly straight face.) I thought about some of the things Lyle would do to "entertain" me, and my hairless cunt began to drool. Right after brunch, Chrissy went off to pack, and I retreated to the bathroom...to masturbate. ****************************** I drove Chrissy to the airport before mid-afternoon. I didn't go in with him, because he'd be checking in at the counter and then going right on to the security check. He kissed me and scrambled out with his bags. "Have fun," he told me; there was a vanilla smile on his face, but I'm sure that I detected a smirk in his voice. He hurried into the terminal. ****************************** I was very nervous by the time I got home and sat by the phone, expecting Lyle to call. And, finally, he did. "I promised your husband that I would keep you 'entertained,' Suzy. Why don't you make supper for us? I like pasta. I'll come over in a hour or so with some red wine, and we can 'entertain' each other.... And, by the way, how did you 'compensate' him?" "Um.... I...I ma-asturbated him...." "That all? Well, I think you ought to be encouraged to do more for your husband, don't you?" "Maybe...." "No 'maybe' about it. Right now, though, go fix supper. When I get there, I'll expect the food to be ready and you stark naked. Okay?" Then he hung up, without waiting for an answer, and I was left staring at the phone. Naked, indeed! I knew he was a pig, but he was going above and beyond the bounds of swinehood. Yet, I'd come this far, and I didn't dare risk ruining my plans -- no matter how amorphous they might be at present -- over what was really such a minor matter. So I stripped naked and spent the next hour fixing supper (and fingering myself off and on). ****************************** Everything was ready when Lyle arrived, with a smirk and a couple of large bottles of chianti. I was already somewhat turned-on (what with playing with myself and fantasizing about what Lyle might have in mind to do to me), but my arousal began ratcheting upward the instant I answered the door. He looked me up and down, and his frown made my nipples stand fully at attention and my clit begin to throb. While he ate supper (noisily), I had to kneel at his feet. He fed me with his greasy fingers, morsels of pasta and salad. I washed them down with large gulps of the fiery chianti. When he was done eating, he ordered me to clear the table and wash up, while he drank coffee and watched me work. I was nervous, knowing that he was observing every tit-jiggle and butt-wobble. I wished I were firmer and a few pounds lighter. ****************************** At length I'd finished my chores, and we went upstairs to the bedroom. After looking around, he stood in the middle of the room and ordered me to undress him -- as if he were some arrogant African chief and I his white slave. I saved his underpants until last, and, when I pulled them down, freeing his erect cock, I couldn't suppress a gasp. It seemed even bigger now in the light of day than I had imagined it last night. I gazed at the dark chocolate shaft and bulging crimson-pink head. I touched it gently, mesmerized by its possibilities.... He interrupted my reverie by putting a hand on my head and gently but firmly pushing me downward. Still a trifle dizzy from the wine, I went to my knees unresisting and found myself staring directly at IT. "Kiss it." I couldn't refuse. I reached up and cradled it in my hands. I tentatively licked my lips and gently kissed the tip and then here and there along the shaft. "Put it in your mouth." (Oh, god! IN MY MOUTH! A wave of revulsion hit me, and I hesitated.) "In your mouth, girl!" he rasped. (Girl...white slave girl being commanded by her despotic black master to make love to his grotesque "thing." The fantasy made it easier for me to obey.) I did it. The swollen head, already dripping slime, slipped between my lips...and I caressed it with my tongue. The white slave girl HAD to obey...to make it sweet for her black master. "Give me your best 'bad girl blow job' -- lots of saliva and moaning. Make like you loooove it. When I cum, you swallow the whole load...ALL of it.... And afterward, you've gotta convince me that you absolutely LOVED sucking my dick, and beg me to let you do it again...often. I trembled, but got to work. My master had spoken. ****************************** When it came, it was way-more-than-a-mouthful, but I managed to choke it all down. I'd never swallowed ANY cum before, and I was appalled. I felt as though my mouth were defiled. Still, I had to obey. Didn't I? ****************************** He tied my hands behind my back with a bathrobe sash and then gave me a long drink of chianti to cleanse my palate. In return, I had to lick his balls, as he sprawled on my marriage bed, until he was almost ready to cum again. So I ended up swallowing a second (and somewhat smaller) load of cum. Nigger cum. My master's cum. ******************************* After he'd rested, and I had told him at length how much I'd adored sucking him off, he untied my wrists. Immediately, my hands went to my crotch. I needed to cum so badly that I didn't care if he watched me masturbate. But, before I could even get started, he slapped my hands away. "No, none of that. You're being punished, and you don't get to cum until I say so. Right now, I want you to dress up -- the same outfit you wore last night. We're going out tonight, and you'll be the only white in the place, so I want you to look gooood." He slapped me on the bottom -- hard! -- and propelled me toward the closet. ****************************** A few minutes later, I was as ready as he would allow. (He wouldn't let me do much to my hair; slightly disheveled, it gave me a rather slutty appearance. Amazingly, he did let me wear panties. The real reason for that became apparent just before we left the house. He showed me a pair of small golden balls connected by a nylon cord. "Some people call these 'Ben-Wa' and some 'Duo-Vibro Balls.' Under either name they work pretty good. Pull up your dress, pull down your panties, and spread your legs. You're going to wear these in your cunt tonight. They'll keep you on 'simmer' as long as need be." He snugged them into place against my G-spot and then made me wiggle my hips as a test. The vibration effect was definite, but subtle -- probably not enough to bring me to climax unaided. Lyle read this conclusion on my face and laughed. "Okay. Pull up your panties, Suzy, and let's go." I gritted my teeth. "Damn you, Chrissy," I thought. "This is all your fault."