Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I had always fancied myself a pretty confident and attractive guy.  I had
never had trouble picking up girls and whenever I would, which was most
nights, I loved to dominate and hurt them; make them scream and leave them
bruised.  I had been in a committed relationship with a French model named
Yvette and, though I would still pick up girls on the side from time to
time, we had decided to move in together.  She was gorgeous and freakier
than any girl I had previously been with, so I was ecstatic that my
relationship with her was going as well as it was.

   As to be expected when moving in with someone, we both had a lot less
privacy and were therefore a lot less able to maintain appearances for one
another.  In the past, seeing a girl sleep, eat or go the bathroom had
spoiled the illusion on which my attraction was based, but my infatuation
with Yvette was enough to withstand anything.  Seeing her take her morning
shit with no makeup on, looking disheveled and exhausted just made me even
more attracted to her.  However, I was really bothered by the sight of her
masturbating.  It turned me on and often I would lie next to her and
masturbate myself, but the size of the dildo she used would made me
uncomfortable since it was much larger than my penis and the fact that she
continued to use it frequently despite the amount of sex we were having
reflected poorly upon my sexual performance.  I began to fear that she
wanted more than I had to offer, that I was leaving her unsatisfied.  I had
never gotten this feeling before from any girl and it terrified me.

   It was around this time I started to have some very confusing dreams.  I
would come home to Yvette in bed and I would start to eat her pussy, only
to realize i had a mouthful of another man's cum; she had been cheating. 
When I fucked her she would laugh at me, tell me that I could not compare
to her other boyfriend, who had a big black cock.  He was dominant like she
liked and not pathetic and crazy like me.  It was unclear why she was
staying with me, since she seemed to really resent me, but I too had
developed intense feelings of contempt for her, which in no way made me
want to leave the relationship; in fact I was becoming more invested.  When
I would wake up from these dreams, I was in a panic.  I felt flushed, I was
sweating profusely, my heart was racing but, oddly, I would wake up each
morning with an erection, often leaking with precum.

   I was very uncomfortable with the idea of being turned on by this. 
Having this as a fetish is evidence that I am insecure.  It is a fetish
that gross pathetic old men with tiny dicks have and I, an attractive man
in my prime, was lumping myself into this disgusting group of people. 
Thoughts of her cheating began to consume me every time we had sex.  I
could tell she had noticed a difference in my performance; I had lost my
confidence.  Sex used to make me feel so secure and proud of myself, but
since having these dreams, each time was very confusing and bittersweet. 
After I would cum I would feel severely depressed and I was unsure what to
do about this.  Needless to say, I did not feel comfortable discussing the
issue with my wife.

   As sex grew more and more isolating, I turned to masturbation.  I would
watch women get plowed by multiple big black cocks until their pussies were
molded into gaping holes.  With each day, it would take me longer and
longer to cum until it reached the point where I would stay up all night
masturbating.  This would interfere with my work and I was terrified that
my wife would catch me masturbating or see my computer history.  I had no
doubt that she would leave me if she were to become aware of what a sick
freak I truly was.  I could not let her know that my self-confidence was
only a facade, or she would stop respecting me.  But, though my fetish
revolved around a fear of being left by her, being unable to share my most
intimate fantasies with her was so isolating that, on a practical level, I
cared less and less about my relationship each day.  I could no longer take
any romantic aspects of our relationship seriously.  I stopped listening
when she talked to me because I was fixated on the fantasy of her pussy
being stretched and could not force myself to care about anything else.

   I felt as though I was wasting away.  This is what I had feared about
marriage to begin with; That I would be forced to waste my whole life stuck
with one woman, unable to freely explore my sexual fantasies.  I was very
unsure about what to do, since my fetish was predicated on the commitment
of marriage and monogamy, my typical solution for feeling unsatisfied with
a relationship (cheating) would make no sense in this context.  I didn't
want to cheat, I wanted Yvette to cheat and I wanted to watch and eat her
out after.  Though it terrified me to show this side of myself to her, I
felt I had no other choice; Trying to conceal my true desire was ruining my
life and my marriage.

   As I had suspected, asking her to cheat did not go well.  She implied
that I was transferring homosexual and/or incestuous fantasies onto her and
she was therefore hurt that I was getting off to someone other than her. 
She also told me that she had not ever been the type to sleep around and
that she would not feel comfortable sleeping with men she did not know or
trust.  I had feared she would be weirded out if I told her about it and
her reaction made me feel so ashamed to have fetishized shame.  I fought
back tears as I desperately pleaded with her to fuck another guy.  She
stood by her opposition and I eventually gave up, since our conversation
was obviously hurting both of us.

   That night after she went to sleep, I stayed up masturbating to internet
porn, but I kept coming across the same few videos, none of which fully
embodied my fetish.  I had been up for days, my urethra was sore from
ejaculating too often and I began to feel enraged that the burden of
getting off was now on me when it should have been on my wife.  The anger I
felt made it even more difficult for me to cum and, frustrated, I gave up.
I went back to our bed and got in next to her.  I still could not sleep and
the sight of her asleep mocked me.  I began punching her sleeping body,
gently at first and then progressively harder and harder until she awoke
and started yelling.  I could not let the neighbors hear, so I pinned her
down and choked her.  I told her what an ungrateful bitch she was and that
every sexual whim I have is worth more than her life.  I told her that I
would kill her if she didn't do what I want and she complied.  I am unsure
if she was turned on by my violence or if she was just agreeing reluctantly
because she was scared.  I hope to god it was the former since my fantasy
was predicated on her agency and forcing her to fuck strangers would
completely contradict everything I wanted.  That being said, I was
desperate and had no other choice.

   Soon after this, I invited a black man, who I had found online, to come
meat my wife.  Initially, Yvette was apprehensive.  The man's presence was
making her very nervous and too shy to make small talk, which led to an
uncomfortable silence.  Impatient, I instructed them to fuck.  Immediately
upon penetration, she was in ecstasy, making jerky movements and squealing,
as though being violently tickled.  I watched from beneath his ass, his
cock stretching her pussy, his dark skin making it easy for me to visualize
the vastness of the gape.  It was terrifying to watch the relationship I
had put so much into be destroyed in a single thrust, but her apparent
enjoyment indicated to me that there was no going back.  I was furiously
jerking off, while an intense warm knot grew in my throat, as though i was
about to cry, or vomit.  He was making her feel pleasure in a way i have
never been able to and in tern, she would love him in a way that no woman
would ever love me.  My mothers implications of my inadequacy throughout my
childhood, which i had spent my life trying to disprove, were all true.  I
was a worthless pathetic bitch who no girl could ever love because my penis
was not big enough.  All of the substance, which I had prided myself on,
did not matter to anyone.  Human beings only use for each other for sex and
I had nothing to offer in that department.  Her pussy was dripping wet,
leaving a puddle on the bed.  I had never seen her so wet, I had never
heard her moan like that.  I felt guilty for having taken that feeling away
from Yvette during our relationship and this was the inevitable tragic
ending for men like me.

   After about an hour of him furiously pounding her, he began to moan
loudly, and ultimately finished inside of her.  I watched his long snake
pull out of the cunt slowly and, when it was finally out, her pussy was
quivering, cavernous and red, with his cum dripping down onto her asshole.
It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my entire life.  I almost did
not want to lap up his cum because it was so incredible to look at, but
alas, passion got the best of me and, within minutes, my face was buried
where his cock had been, affectionately kissing her ruined pussy.  She
tasted upsetting, his sour cum making me gag with each lick.  She grabbed
my hair and pulled me into her cunt, squeezing my face with her thighs.  I
couldn't breathe, all i could do was continue to swallow this strangers
cum. She yelled to me that she was about to cum and that she wanted me to
fuck her.  Her pussy felt cold and wet as the head of my dick entered it. I
felt her pussy against the top of my dick but not on the sides or bottom,
instead I felt cold air.  I assume she felt the same.  She felt much looser
than ever before and her cold cum filled pussy gave me chills as we fucked.
She laughed at me, embarrassing myself, unable to please her, showing such
pleasure from something so inappropriate, something so gay.  Perhaps she
was laughing at herself for thinking that I could make her cum with my
little dick.  She started rubbing her clit and then, soon after, stuck two
fingers into her pussy along with my dick.  I shuddered that she was doing
something so primal and unattractive, it was so sexy.  "I can barely feel
you, can we stop?" she asked, at which point the shame was too intense and
I blew my load.  Nutting in her was like pissing in an ocean of piss.

   I fell to her side, exhausted, in ecstasy.  She still hadn't cum so the
stranger approached her for round two.  He rubbed the head of his dick
around her pussy for a few minutes, unable to penetrate, then slowly slid
it in, which brought her to an immediate intense orgasm.  I jerked off my
sore, tiny, cum-crusted dick and blew another load at this atrocity.  He
continued to fuck her, now much harder and faster, as I drifted off and
their moans were beautiful lullabies to my passionate dreams.

   As per usual, my dreams focused on Yvette betraying me.  The two of us
were riding on a bus as she told me that she was leaving me for another man
and that I was going to have to pay child support for our kid.  Beside her
was a kid, who was black, presumably from one of her extramarital affairs.
I was being forced to sign my name over and over again, which was
simultaneously erotic and traumatic.

   When I woke up, I was spooning with my wife.  The stranger had left and
we both had cum dried on our naked bodies.  I kissed her and told her I
loved her and she thanked me for pressuring her into letting this guy fuck
her.  She really enjoyed it and would be happy to do it again.  She had
forgotten how amazing big cocks felt inside of her.  I ate her out again,
while jerking off, then cooked her breakfast.  I had never felt so content,
so loved, so understood, which really struck me as odd considering I had
just been cheated on.

   For months, she continued to regularly fuck strangers in front of me and
slowly I grew more and more numb to it.  I continued to have similar
dreams, which left me consumed with a need for one of these men to
impregnate her.  I begged her to stop taking birth control and, when she
refused, I attacked her once again.  I told her that I had never loved her
and that I would only stay with her so long as she let another guy get her
pregnant.  She had concerns about it damaging her career, which relied on
her being thin, and also that I may be unable to separate the fetish from
the child and abuse him or leave her to raise him on her own.  I, too,
worried that if she were to get pregnant with another man's baby that she
would abandon me and I would have to start from square one finding a girl
to convince to ruin her pussy.  To prevent this from potentially happening,
I told her that I wanted to see her get fucked by multiple men
simultaneously, so that it would be ambiguous who the father was, however,
I wanted them all to be black because I wanted everyone to know that the
child that I was raising was not mine.  I also suggested that, once she
lost her modeling career, which would be inevitable in any case, I could
pimp her out and together we could earn good money.  She was terrified, but
I suspected also somewhat aroused.  I forced my fist in her pussy and she
cried out in pain and pleasure.  I came on her face.

   Several months later, three giant black men arrived at our house who I
had ordered off the internet to fuck my wife.  She still had not consented
to going off her birth control, so I had switched her pills without her
knowledge.  She had not technically consented to the gangbang either, so I
had told the men who I invited that she had a fantasy of being gang raped
by black men.  Two of them had fucked her before, and knew how much she
loved black cock, so they easily accepted my lie.

   When they entered our bedroom, Yvette was surprised and upset with me.
She knew that my fantasies had been getting progressively more and more
foul and she feared what I had in store.  She asked for a moment to reason
with me in private.  Instead, I instructed the men to begin raping her. 
One grabbed her arms, another her legs, and together they undressed her. 
When she screamed for help, I handed them a roll of tape, but they assured
me that they did not need tape to fill her mouth and silence her screams.
Within minutes, she was gagging on one of their cocks, slobbering all over
herself like an imbecile or a child.  The other two men were weaseling
their way into her mangled pussy and ass.  As she squirmed like an amputee
trying to walk, I could hear short gasps for air and whimpers, which
excited me.  Her face was bright red, as though on the brink of death.  I
laughed.  "This is what you wanted, isn't it, you little bitch?" Her
viscous saliva trickled down his ball sack as he emptied a load into her
mouth.  Clearly saturated with mucus, her off-white drool tasted dry and
salty as I made out with her.  Her ass and pussy too were leaking phlegm
onto the mens cocks.  They all took turns fucking her various holes, each
of which i licked clean in between fucks.  Each time I came, I felt a bit
uncomfortable and regretful of what I was putting my wife through.  As I
watched them fuck her, I paid special attention to her adorable face, to
see if she was enjoying herself or not, but because of the erotic nature of
the situation, I was unable to separate my projected fantasy from reality,
so I could not distinguish between what she was feeling and what I hoped
she was feeling.

   The next day, I noted a profound change in Yvette's behavior.  She
seemed to have given up all hope, like something in her, other than her
vagina, had shattered, for which i felt tremendous guilt.  I had just
arranged for her to be gang raped and she was not angry with me in the
slightest, in fact, she seemed completely numb to all emotion.  This ended
up working to my benefit, because once she realized she was pregnant, it
took little convincing to make her keep it.  At the same time, the
inescapable guilt that I had just killed my wife's spirit made me want to
develop better self control and set my relationship as a priority over my
fetish.  Also, though i was not the biological father of the child she was
pregnant with, I planned to raise it and had willed it into existence, so I
had a paternal responsibility.

   Yvette and I began the process of recovery.  In the heat of the moment,
we had taken on a life changing responsibility which necessitated that our
lifestyle take a backseat to our child.  Neither of us wanted to give up
cuckolding, but we had to reprioritize in order to avoid totally
traumatizing our kid.  I tried my best to help her get over the gangbang,
listening to her endlessly complain about her childhood sexual abuse and
how I had triggered her by arranging for her to be raped.  She told me of a
specific incident with an uncle when she was 4, a memory which she had
repressed but which she uncovered upon getting forcibly impregnated.  I
could get off to this a little bit, (not enough to cum), but i listened to
her intently, knowing that if she sensed my lack of interest it could
negatively affect her recovery.

   When the child was born, I recall masturbating in the hospital as i
watched her pussy stretch with the baby's big black head, much larger than
any cock she had taken, ruining her pussy more than ever before.  I
especially got off to the shocked expression on the nurses faces, and on
those of our families and loved ones as they saw that the baby being born
was a product of infidelity.  I looked into my Son's eyes, his dick not
much smaller than mine while flaccid.  As I held him in my arms, I had
never felt such contempt.  Touching him was so disgusting and erotic and
the fact that i was expected to love this child, this physical
manifestation of my inadequacy, horrified me beyond belief.  I wanted to
kill him, but instead I was forced to raise him and love him as my own.  i
took every opportunity to spoil him as he grew up and I orgasmed with each
dollar i spent.  Because of this, I ironically ended up being a pretty
decent father for a good portion of his life.

   Everything changed, however, when he began going through puberty.  By
age 13, he already looked like a man.  He was tall for his age, built like
a starving african child and, to my dismay, his dick was significantly
larger than mine.  Knowing this to be true, I felt compelled to masturbate
whenever around him.  I would drill holes in the wall separating our rooms,
to spy on him as he changed, obsessively monitoring his every move.  By the
time he began to masturbate regularly, I was completely unable to treat him
as a decent father.  I felt an overwhelming contempt towards him, which he
picked up on despite my best efforts to hide it.  To my knowledge, he was
still a virgin, which gave me comfort, though I felt the inevitability of
one day having to listen to him have sex.  I even began to lose interest in
the debris of my wife's demolished cunt, as my fixation was transferred
onto my son.

   One day, as he was showering, I entered the bathroom, assuming that I
could use parental authority to take advantage of him and orchestrate my
fantasy.  Unfortunately, when I opened the shower curtain, he responded
very aggressively, outraged that I had invaded his privacy.  This only
turned me on more.  I stroked his cock gently, told him that I knew he'd
been masturbating and that I could help him get off, that this was a common
practice between fathers and sons, but that it was very private.  He looked
at me skeptically.  I felt such excitement, I could not control my body
from quivering.  I knelt on the bathroom floor and lifted his cock to my
mouth, with more love and affection than I had ever felt for my wife.  I
sensed that he was getting very uncomfortable, but seeing his cock before
me, taking it in my mouth was my top priority.  However, before I had a
chance to open my mouth, he punched me in the face and called me a faggot.
The blow (so to speak) sent me crashing to the tile floor in a transcendent
bliss.  He stormed out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as I
bled out of my face.  I stayed there jerking off for what felt like hours
and, after cumming about three times, I collapsed in my bed and passed out
in a pool of my own blood like the pathetic piece of shit I am.

   When I woke up, I could not bring myself to get out of bed.  I felt so
disappointed and disgusted with myself, in a way that did not feel exciting
or erotic, only depressing.  Up until this point, I had been getting
through each day by my drive to bring my fantasies into reality and the
previous night had been my first experience of another individual
exhibiting agency, hindering my fantasy's manifestation.  I had been able
to control my wife completely, I had been able to control the niggers who
fucked my wife completely, but I was not good enough to control my teenage
son.  I questioned whether or not I could live in a world that was
unexciting, that was not precisely what I envisioned when i would
masturbate.  I had fallen in love with my son, in a way I never had my
wife, and he had rejected me and called me gay.  My wife found out about
what I had done and would pester me about it.  My sons transgression
clearly made her less intimidated by me and that too was depressing.  If I
could not control my wife and son, I risked ending up in a traditional
household, with a loving wife and a relationship with my son that is less
than sexual.  As soon as I was unable to force everyone to be as cruel as I
was, I could not help but feel tremendous guilt and alienation for being
the way I am.  I called a friend and picked up a few bundles of heroin, so
I could remain in bed, inactive, indefinitely.

   Each night, my wife would crawl into bed next to me to sleep, but we
would never speak to one another.  I would watch her put on make up and get
ready to go out on dates with other men, but I no longer got off to it.  At
times I would feel resentful of her, but most nights I felt nothing at all.
She was so beautiful, but so insipid.  I wished she would just leave me for
another man who would love her and our son and treat them nicely, because
she'd obviously appreciate that more than my insanity.  I had controlled
her our entire relationship and, when I was not controlling her, it was
apparent that she did not appreciate any of what I wanted her to appreciate
about me, which hurt me a lot, though, at the same time, I realized I never
deeply cared about her.

   One night, as I lay nodding off in a bouquet of self-pity, I heard a
woman moaning.  It surprised me, because my wife had stopped bringing guys
over to the house, out of spite for me.  At first, I brushed it off and
returned to nodding, assuming that it was perhaps my son watching porn in
the other room, but as the noise persisted, I couldn't ignore it no longer.
I stumbled over to my spy hole and glanced through into my sons room,
horrified by the unsettling sight before me.  My hypocritical whore of a
wife was riding my son's cock and having multiple consecutive revolting
orgasms.  I felt so betrayed by both of them.  I had loved them both so
much and neither of them had ever loved me.  Furious, I contemplated
entering the room and attacking them, but resisted out of fear of my son's
strength.  Though sickened by the sight of the two of them together,
feeling shameless physical pleasure, like I would never know, I was
transfixed on the agony in their faces and could not look away.  A
sickening knot began to grow in my throat as my heart raced.  I shook
uncontrollably, hyperventilated and masturbated wildly.  After my fourth
orgasm, my dick was so sore that I found it necessary to shoot up again to
turn myself off and try to get some sleep.  I drifted off.

   In my dream, I was in my parents house, in my old bedroom, and I could
hear a subtle buzzing sound, followed by loud desperate moans.  My Mother's
voice.  I was outraged that she would not make more of an effort to hide
this from me, I was a developing young child and exposure to sex was
completely inappropriate.  And if she felt as though she could mandate my
pleasure, by denying me privileges and junk food, how dare she shamelessly
do such a hedonistic act in front of her child?  How dare she condition me
to be ashamed of my sexuality and then rub in my face, or, in this case, my
ears, the fact that she could feel pure pleasure, and feel good about
herself afterwards.  I got out of bed and silently crawled to the door of
my bedroom, which was cracked slightly.  I lay, obscured by the door, on
the cold wood floor of my bedroom, listening intently, focusing as hard as
i could on the subtle nuances of her voice as I got myself off.

   I woke up to the creak of my own door, as my wife entered my room,
tip-toeing, so as not to wake me.  She lay down beside me and gently
settled into the mattress.  I lay next to her, pretending to be asleep for
as long as I possibly could, until the passion was too much.  I turned
around and kissed her forehead, then her lips.  Her pussy accepted my fist
like a wet sponge.  Her pubic hair was matted to her body, rough and dry.
"I love you".