Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Recipient
Title: My Wife's Lover: The African Lion
Summary: An appealingly shy professional wrestler from Uganda stopped a
mugging attempt on me, perhaps saving my life.  His ring name was The
African Lion.  Although my wife and I had only been with each other, we had
discussed sharing her with another man.  The other man had to be perfect.
Keywords: bm, cons, cuckold, MF, interr, rom, viol, wl, wc, wf, wm, wife

Copyright: 2012





   Walking home from a neighborhood tavern after too many drinks, and too
late at night I became aware of myself lying on the ground as a large,
young black man hit me in the face yelling, "Where's the money?"

   I tried to push him away, so I could get to the pepper foam I carry in
my front pocket.  He was immovable, and hit me harder, yelling again,
"Where's the money?" and feeling my pockets for a wallet.

   Before he could tear my wallet out of my pants a larger black man
appeared.  He kicked my assailant in the ribs.  When my assailant turned
around, my rescuer hit him in the jaw, knocking him out.  "Are you hurt,
sir?" he asked me in an African accent.

   "Not as bad as he is," I replied.  "Thanks a lot.  You came just in
time."

   "I wish I had come sooner," the black man said.  "I think he hurt you."

   "It could have been worse," I said.  "I might have died.  I took karate
lessons in high school, but that was awhile ago."

   "I like to watch karate tournaments," the black man said.  "I am from
Uganda.  My name is Araali Baruli.  My ring name is The African Lion.  I am
a professional wrestler."

   I shook his hand.  "My name is Larry Crawford.  I am a computer
programmer."

   "Do you live near here?" Araali asked.

   "Yes.  My wife and I moved in several months ago because of affordable
rents.  This is close to where I work."

   "This neighborhood can be dangerous after dark," Araali said.  "You must
be careful, Sir."

   "Yes," I replied.  "I admit that I need to learn some street smarts."

   "Do not be out after dark if you can help it," Araali told me.  "Do not
drink too much.  "

   "Thank you.  If someone told me that yesterday I may not have listened.
Do you live near here?"

   "Yes.  I train at the Stillman Weight Center.  Perhaps some evening you
and your wife will watch me wrestle."

   "We would enjoy it."

   "I would be honored, Sir."

   I was not used to being called "Sir," and it made me feel somewhat
uncomfortable, but if Araali wanted to call me that, I did not feel like
complaining.

   By now my assailant was beginning to stir.  "What happened?" he asked.

   "You hurt a good man," Araali answered.  "If you try to run I will hit
you again."

   I got my cell phone out of my briefcase and called the police.  A police
car and an ambulance arrived.  The police car took my assailant to jail. 
The ambulance took me to the emergency room of a hospital.  I had a bad
black eye in my left eye, and my left eye was bloodshot, but an examination
revealed no permanent damage.

   When my wife came to pick me up she had obviously been crying.  When she
saw Araali she hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "You're our
hero.  My husband might have been killed.  I cannot thank you enough."

   "Thank you, Ma'am," Araali said, obviously embarrassed by my wife's
public display of affection.

   I marveled at the physical contrast between my wife and my new friend.
My wife is slightly over five feet tall, and slightly under 105 pounds. 
Araali looked like he was at least six feet four inches tall, and he must
have weighed about 220 pounds.  My wife has dark brown hair, and brown
eyes, but her skin is pearly white.  Araali is so black he is almost
purple.

   The trial was brief.  There was no doubt about the guilt of the
defendant.  Araali and I testified against him.  For evidence there were
photographs of what I looked like after the attack, as well as a doctor's
report.  The defendant had been in and out of reform school and prison
since he was ten years old.  He attacked me while on parole for an earlier
crime.  He was sentenced to ten years in prison.

   After the trial Araali, my wife, and I went to an Ethiopian restaurant.
Araali was shy and seemed uncomfortable in the presence of my small,
delicate, shapely, and very pretty wife.  His shyness was difficult to
understand in a man who was so physically impressive.  For that same reason
it was touchingly appealing.

   I had wanted to draw him out and get him to tell us about himself. 
Instead, he was as tongue tied as a fifteen year old boy on his first date.
So I began, "My wife Alice and I dated in high school and attended the same
college where we both studied computer science.  After working for several
years with different companies, we both got jobs with the Bank of America
in this city, so we moved in six months ago.

   "As I am learning, the neighborhood can be dangerous.  Nevertheless,
other young professionals are moving in.  The area seems to be gentrifying
a bit.  Alice and I prefer the cultural amenities of a big city.  We would
be bored living in the suburbs."

   "Please tell us about yourself," my wife began."Why did you move to the
United States?  Larry tells me that you are a professional wrestler.  How
did you get into that?"

   "I am from Uganda," Araali began.  "I am of the Baruli clan, which is
part of the Batoora tribe.  We are a tribe of mighty warriors.  Idi Amin
was afraid of us.  My father is named Baboya Baruli.  He is the headman in
my village.

   "When I was a boy my hero was your Arnold Schwarzenegger.  I wanted to
be just like him.  I had just learned English in school, so I developed my
skill by reading every body building and weight lifting magazine I could.
When I was fifteen my father bought me a barbell set for Christmas.  I soon
began to exercise for hours every week.

   "I was always big and strong for my age.  Now I became much stronger.  I
used my strength to protect others from bullies.  I never could understand
how bullies thought they became big men by picking on boys who had no
chance to fight back and win.  The bullies had no chance against me.  I
fought them and won.

   "After I finished school a wrestling promoter from the United States who
was on vacation in Uganda found me, and offered to establish me in the
United States."

   "We are very glad you are here," my wife said.  "What do you think of
the United States?"

   "Your country is very beautiful," Araali began.  "I am privileged to be
here.  But it still feels strange.  In my country people respect their
parents and teachers.  In this country many do not.  That makes me sad. 
Many do not even know who their fathers are.  When I was growing up my
father told me about our ancestors, and how mighty they were in hunting and
war.  I wanted to become like them."

   "Your father must be proud that you are a successful professional
wrestler in America," my wife said.

   Araali smiled proudly.  "Thank you, Mrs.  Crawford.  He is."

   When we were finished with our meals I was going to pick up the tab, but
Araali insisted on paying for it himself.  "Please let me," he said.  "You
are good people.  I am honored to have you as friends.  I hope some time
you can see me wrestle."

   "We will watch," my wife said.  "We will enjoy it."

   Although I had been interested in the martial arts, eastern and western
since I took karate lessons as a teenager, I had never had much interest in
professional wrestling.  It is staged.  Most of the techniques would not
work in an actual fight.  Nevertheless, watching the African Lion perform
in the ring was our next step to help him overcome his shyness with Alice.

   Professional wrestling matches are often morality plays between good and
evil.  Because Alice and I lived in a city with a large black population,
and because the audience was mainly black, the African Lion represented
good.  He was the crowd favorite.  As he walked down the row of the arena
he wore an authentic lion skin cape.  He was cheered loudly.  When he
stepped into the ring he began to give a convincing lion's roar.  The
audience loved it.

   His opponent was the Rebel Soldier.  The Rebel Soldier wore a
Confederate hat, and a grey robe with "CSA" on the back.  He carried a
Confederate flag into the ring.  As the crowd booed he waved his flag and
shouted, "The South will rise again!  The South will rise again!  Robert E.
Lee!  Jefferson Davis!" The response seemed so angry I was afraid people
would throw things at him.  Fortunately, no one did.

   When the African Lion removed his cape before the match, my wife almost
gasped in admiration.  Although professional wrestling is fake, there was
nothing fake about the African Lion's magnificent body.  After bowing in
four directions to the audience, he flexed his arms in the four directions.
His biceps looked almost as big around as my wife's waist.  His chest was
like a brick wall.  His thighs were like tree trunks.  Although he was
huge, his abdominal muscles were ripped.  When I looked at my wife's face,
she was admiring him with obvious desire.

   When the match started the Rebel Soldier lived up to his reputation as
the villain by dirty fighting whenever the referee was not looking.  At the
same time, he complained to the referee that the African Lion was not
fighting fair, although he obviously was.

   The Rebel Soldier's tactics were unsuccessful.  Good triumphed over evil
when the African Lion pinned his shoulders to the mat.  The crowd exploded
in applause.  Ever the gentleman, the African Lion tried to hug the Rebel
Soldier after the match.  The Rebel Soldier pushed back, and had to be
restrained.

   The African Lion had invited us to visit him in his dressing room after
the match.  My wife put her arms inside his cape, wrapped them around his
magnificent body, and kissed him on the lips, saying, "That was wonderful."

   Somewhat embarrassed, Araali said, "Thank you Mrs.  Crawford."

   "Call me Alice," my wife said.  "Anyone who wrestles that magnificently
can call me Alice.  You must have dinner with us soon."

   I could tell that Araali still felt uncomfortable calling my wife by her
first name, but he said, "Thank you Alice.  I would love that."

   Later that evening, when my wife and I were enjoying the afterglow of a
love making session, I told her, "We have discussed sharing you with
another man."

   "Yes we have," she said kissing me.

   "We also agreed that he would have to be perfect."

   "Yes we did, Lover."

   "What do you think of Araali?"

   "I think he's perfect," my wife said.  "but we will have to be careful.
He thinks I am too pure and holy to have sexual thoughts about."

   For our evening with the African Lion my wife chose a short, clinging
dress with no panties underneath.  It was open in front, showing beautiful
cleavage.  She wore no bra.  When I said she might be trying to move too
quickly with our new friend, my wife said, "I will be gentle, but I am too
eager to wait much longer."

   "Some things are worth waiting for," I said.  "We waited until we got
married."

   "Since then you have given me much enthusiasm for making love," Alice
said.  "I have discovered desires I never knew I had."

   The African Lion arrived punctually, wearing a coat and tie.  My wife
wasted no time in wrapping her arms around him, and kissing him on the
lips. "Thank you Mrs.  Crawford," he said.

   "My name is Alice, remember?"

   "Yes Alice."

   Dinner and drinks went well.  During the evening my wife managed several
times without apparently trying to do so to flash her nipples and vagina at
our friend.  He was surprised, and looked at me.  My calm smile said, "Look
and enjoy."

   By the end of dinner Araali was thoroughly aroused by my wife, but he
still felt uncomfortable with my presence.  I quietly put a change of
clothing in a pack along with some toilet articles, and prepared to leave
to spend the night at a hotel.  My wife kissed me goodbye, whispering
quietly to me, "Thank you for being so wonderful."

   "I will be back tomorrow afternoon.  Enjoy."

   When I returned the next day my wife greeted me, wreathing nothing but
Chanel Number 9, and an expression of complete bliss.

   After I locked the door behind me I said, "It must have been good."

   "It was wonderful," my wife told me.

   I sat my naked wife on my lap, and began fondling her breasts, which are
large and firm, despite her diminutive size.  After kissing her hard
nipples, which stuck out like the nipples on baby's bottles I asked, "How
many times?"

   "Would you believe five?"

   "The most I have ever done is four."

   "Don't compare yourself with him," my wife told me.  "There is no
comparison between a man I like and enjoy and the man I love.  I gave you
my first kiss.  I gave you my virginity.  He gave me my husband back again.
I hate to think of what would have happened if he had not been there that
night."

   "How long did he last?"

   "Fifteen minutes to nearly an hour.  I kept time.  I could not keep
track of my orgasms.  I lost count after ten."

   "Do you think he will let me watch next time?" I asked.

   "I am sure of it.  I told him you wanted to."

   When the African Lion visited us again my wife wore nothing but shoes,
Chanel Number 9, and a long necklace.  We ate quickly, eager to satisfy
another appetite.

   When they were on our marital bed I marveled at the contrast in skin
color and size.  My wife's long brown hair flowed behind her, almost
covering her perfect bottom.  Araali held her gently with his magnificent,
barbell honed arms.  His penis was as long, as thick, and as hard as one
would expect.  Finally my wife said, "Don't make me wait any more.  Get
inside of me."

   Because my wife was still fairly tight after four years of marriage I
thought the African Lion's ample dimensions would be uncomfortable to her.
I need not have worried.  He pushed his penis in slowly, aided by my wife's
lubrication.  She pushed her vulva against him saying, "Yes.  Yes.  Push
harder."

   I could not see how there was room in my wife's vagina for Araali's
large organ.  Somehow it stretched to accommodate our new friend.  Soon
they were hard at it, shaking our bed so hard I half feared it would
collapse.  My wife loved it.  "Araali!  Araali!  This is so wonderful. 
Don't stop."

   I picked up my wife's hand and kissed it.  "Kiss my lips," she said. 
When I did she told me, "I love you.  I love you so much.  You're next." I
removed my clothes.

   After about a half hour the African Lion shot copious quantities of
semen against my wife's stretched cervix.  After he slowly withdrew he
said, "Thank you Darling.  Thank you Darling."

   I entered my wife.  She had looked at Araali with desire.  She looked at
me with love.  Toward the end of her session with him she was having an
orgasm every few minutes.  We went on together from there.  After I
ejaculated into her she said, "Thank you.  Thank you so much for
everything."

   By now the African Lion had another erection, but he could tell that my
wife and I wanted to be alone together.  He put his clothes back on, and
began to leave.  My wife stopped him at the door, still completely naked.
She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him again and again, and saying,
"This was wonderful.  You are wonderful.  We must do this again and again."

   "We will, Darling." Araali said, before leaving.  I could tell this took
real will power on his part.  He obviously wanted to pleasure my wife
again.

   My wife and I lay in bed together, touching, kissing, talking.  After
several hours I was ready to go again.  This time I lasted longer.  We went
to sleep loving each other.  We woke up the next morning loving each other.

   That is how the African Lion became my wife's lover, and my best friend.
I never again worried about leaving my wife alone in a dangerous
neighborhood when I was away on a business trip.  The African Lion kept her
safe and satisfied.

   Please comment:
   recipient1990@yahoo.com