Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Male grooming coaching classes By Bhuralund@gmail.com

   She wanted to do something and thus started the idea of running a
grooming class.  Her best friend Anita suggested that she should run a
grooming class for men, "Indian men have no clue about personal grooming
and hygiene," she said and laughed.  My wife was hooked on to the idea.  We
have a large outhouse behind the main house, she got it spruced up and
within a week, she had it all hooked up for running the twice-a-week
grooming class.  The ad she ran in the local men's lifestyle magazines were
paying off and she got the seven men needed to start her first class.  Most
of the men were working men so the classes were scheduled for 7pm to 10pm.
Two hours of grooming instructions from a woman?  Oh man, you gotta be
kidding a married man.  And as I had guessed, most of her students were
single in one way or another.  There was one divorced middle aged man, two
widowers trying to kill their spare time, two young students, one sure-shot
faggot and one teenager.  I don't wish to see or meet them at all and my
wife respected my wishes.

   Two weeks went by smoothly and my wife have me running commentary after
each class about who did what and how they just couldn't get anything right
and so on.  Third week, wife went quiet.  When I asked her, she said, "Oh
come on, I know you don't give a damn about me so let's just forget about
the whole thing.  Anyway, I have to prepare for tomorrow's class which is
about buying or getting your tailor to make the perfect pants.  So please
do your own work and let me do mine."

   I got the message and retreated to my study.  My mind, on the other
hand, started playing havoc to my head.  The perfect pant!  Hmm...now that
was food for my dirty mind.  I had always wanted to showcase my
near-perfect wife without success.  She hated to show off her well balanced
breasts, narrow waist and an ample behind.  Not even a strip of thigh was
exhibited for my pleasure...even after 10 years of marriage, my fantasies
of letting other men window shop for my wife had not left me.  And now,
after all these years, she was telling me that she was going to advise
seven strange men - of varying ages, and perhaps colours and shapes and
sizes - what a perfect pair of trousers was supposed to be like.  I closed
my eyes, and all I could imagine was her lovely lips, within inches of male
crotches.  Males who had had no time to freshen up for her class after a
hard day at work.  Men with sweaty bodies, smelly armpits and crotches. 
Smelly penises.  Ah, the penises, the cocks.  Different sizes, shapes,
colours, states of hardness and of course how could I forget different
tastes.  Some must be bitter-sweet, I tried to recall the taste from many
years ago.  Some must be sweet and sour, others salty, creamy, sticky,
smelly...oh the cock musk!  I felt my own seven inch cock stirring between
my legs and I got up.

   I knew every nook and cranny of the outhouse so it was not so difficult
to extract the hidden key from the backdoor and to enter.  I tip toed to
the large living room which was converted into the classroom.  The class
must have just started and two of the men, the students, were not yet
there. Ruchi, my wife, was arranging the men into a single file.  There was
going to be a catwalk.  Then the last one turned up...the student,
apparently, the last one told my wife, was not coming today.  It was
examination fever at its peak.

   The other six men, I realised, my mouth watering at the prospect, were
all black men.  What a coincidence, I thought.  How lovely!  Anyway, the
music began and the men started catwalking.  The first man - the
70-year-old widower, or should I say the black widower, was a lean man with
long limbs and thick stubs of fingers.  He walked clumsily and it was
evident that his teacher, my wife, was not very happy.  My wife stopped him
in his tracks, sat down inches away from his crotch - as I had imagined -
and straightened his trousers, pulling the hem with one hand and the top,
together with his black leather belt with the other.  He was facing the
rest of the men and my wife was on her knees, her slit skirt displaying her
thunder thighs like she was a lady of the flesh.  I wasn't sure if the men
were watching what she was doing to the old black man's trousers or her
milky soft thigh.  I was fine either way.

   Then I noticed my wife's frustration.  No matter how much she pulled it
straight, the black gent's trouser always lumped to the right.  Finally,
after her sixth attempt, she couldn't take it any more and pulled his
trousers to the left and to her embarrassment and to the other men's
delight, all of them and me realised that she was now holding the old black
man's thick long cock.  For a minute she pretended she didn't know what she
had touched, and the way she dropped it was like a child had touched a
beautiful but extremely hot toy.  She didn't realise that all other men had
seen her hold the black man's cock for longer than was necessary.  She got
up and started the music again as if nothing had happened.  The old man
walked back to the end of the line, his trousers still uneven in fact the
lump in front much more evident now then before.

   The second black man walked.  He was better.  But his crotch had been
carefully rearranged - well I know for sure as I had seen him do that
myself - so that it caused a ridge at the front of his pants.  And what a
ridge.  He as expected stopped in the same position as the old man and my
wife tenderly tried to straighten his pants too without success.  He
whispered something to her and she got up, her face red, but she smiled and
put her hand in his pocket - the same side of the lump.  And her hand
lingered in.  I could sense like she was fondling his cock through a hole
or he had shoved his rock hard cock inside his pocket through a hole. 
Whatever, anyway when her hand came out, I could distinctly see the wetness
all over her fingers.  The bitch.  She had been spreading his
pre-ejaculation goo all over his probably rock hard cock head.

   The third man walked to his assigned place and my wife applauded. 
Perfect, she said.  He probably hadn't caught on to what had transpired
earlier.  The fourth man walked and my wife sat down to make some
adjustments.  I was amused and shocked by what I saw.  The man had pulled
his cock up and aligned it in an upright positing along his zipper.  And it
took my wife a minute to realize that the tight, hard knob of his purple
cock was peeking out of the top of his trousers, like a plum.  A rather big
plum.  This was getting somewhere.  My wife cleared her throat and looked
elsewhere for help.  No help was forthcoming.  Then she smiled and slowly
tried to push the cock head back inside the trousers but of course it
didn't budge down.  Instead a stream of precum flowed out of its puckered
piss slit.  My wife rolled her eyes heavenwards and wiped his precum with
her hand and wiped her hands on the back of her black skirt, leaving a
distinct wet patch.

   Slowly one by one, each of the black men got a chance to get groped by
my lovely tramp wife.  Once the "perfect pant" session was over.  They
moved on to the next session, which, surprises!, was the perfect
undergarments.  Once the six black men were lined up, my wife asked them to
remove their shirts.  This, she announced, was for the vest inspection.  I
saw one by one all the black men removed their shirts revealing one after
another black chest - none of them was wearing a vest.  My wife tched and
said, "A vest is great for good hygiene as it absorbs sweat and keeps a
perfect shirt from soiling easily.  Never mind, if that's the way you guys
prefer, let's move on.  Can all of you put on your shirts and take off your
pants?" There was a murmur of dissent.  The old black man said, "Can we
just get it over with first and then we can dress completely and go home."
My wife nodded uncomfortably and watched as one by one, the glistening
black bodies became even barer.  The first man was wearing a pair of black
boxers briefs that looked like they were painted on him.  His unmistakable
cock outline accentuated the flared head.  The second man was wearing white
bikini briefs, also bulging at the point of bursting.  The third man was
wearing normal boxer shorts and it was not too difficult to notice the
elongated and heavy cock peeking from under the hem of his boxers.  The
fourth, fifth and the sixth men, not surprisingly as the reputation of
black men goes, were not wearing any underwear at all and stood there in
the soft overhead spotlight, in different but distinct states of hardness.

   My wife was taken aback.  She looked nervous and edgy.  Like she didn't
know how to react.  She mumbled some words about the importance of
underwear to protect testicles (she said balls I think) and so on...but her
eyes were riveted on the three magnificent black cocks elongating right in
front of her eyes, just a few feet away.  The old black man, who was
wearing boxer shorts, whined, "How come they get to show off and we don't?"
He said and with that pulled his boxers off, revealing the heavy cock that
was hanging low with gravity and weight.  The other two followed suit,
grinning at the turn of events and there they were the six black men
standing in front of my wife in their birthday suits - as nature intended
them to be.

   "Hey Ruchi," one of them asked breaking the thundering silence, "shall
we continue our next topic just like this?  It is so much refreshing and
relaxing." The next session was the perfect ball room dance.  Before my
wife could object, one of them had switched the music on and was standing
next to her, down on one knee, asking for her hand for a dance.  Slightly
conscious of her situation, my wife offered her hand and he got up.  His
magnificent specimen of a cock, a black cock, was almost rock hard and
bounced up with each step he took.  As he held her waist and twirled her
towards him, his 10-inch long and extremely fat cock whacked her right at
her crotch.  A string of precum remained attached between his cock and her
skirt, right where her pussy must have been winking open in friction.  Some
moved followed and then in one sweep he held her both hands and pushed her
down on the floor, between his thick muscular black legs and right under
his dangling hairy, sweaty black balls, swinging like a pendulum.  They had
been dancing for 10 minutes and a bead of sweat rolled from his cock and
balls and slowly fell straight on her lips.  Then, abruptly, the music
stopped.  Another man took his position for the next song.  He too, felt my
wife with his big black hands and cupped her ass and pressed her
panty-covered pussy right on his rock hard, nine-inch cock.  As he slammed
into her, the impact was so great - and the cock was so hard that the
flimsy cotton skirt gave way and tore up a giant hole, right above her
pussy.  My own cock was aching so much that it was painful.

   Music stopped and it was time for the next man.  Within the first
minute, his 12-inch cock was jammed inside the hole in her skirt and was
rubbing against her panty-clad pussy right at the slit.  My wife, her
arousal visible, was getting horny.  After ten minutes of this pussy
stroking from outside, it was then the turn of the old black man.  His
walked to my wife his cock dripping precum all over the wooden floor.  By
now the hole in her skirt had actually become a slit down till the hem of
her skirt and transformed the garment into several tattered rags hanging
uselessly from the belt.  The white panty was soaking wet - some from her
own pussy juice and most from all of the precum from wiped off by the
swinging black cocks.  The old black man was the fittest, even at 70, he
lifted my wife like a light small girl to loud cheers from the other men,
who were now openly stroking their cocks slowly.  Then he turned her upside
down so that her wet pussy was in his face and his frothing black donkey
meat cock was in her face.  The cock hung over her chin and slowly
slithered down to her lips.  As it touched her lips, she gave a loud sigh
and her tongue flicked out to lick the hard old meat.  The old black man
too left all pretence and moved her panty aside with his teeth and darted a
tongue along the slick pussy slit.  My wife's unturned body shivered in
ecstasy and her mouth slowly devoured the old black man's cock.  Her
suction pulled his foreskin back revealing a white smattering of smegma,
probably accumulated from few days.  She shuddered as she dug into the cock
cheese and began nibbling on the purple head.  The 69 continued till the
music stopped.  Then the next man came up.  This time the music was
slightly upbeat - a fast waltz.  He simply picked up my wife and started
turning around.  While doing so, his hand moved down and as I saw excitedly
rubbed his 10-inch long and 7-inch thick horsecock alone my wife's
extremely aroused and wet pussy lips.  In one turn I saw the head of his
cock embedded inside my wife's pussy hole stretched tight.  In the second
round, half of his cock had disappeared.  In the third round, my wife's
pussy had swallowed the entire ten inches of his cock meat and was
stretched to its limit.  He slowly pulled her legs - one by one - behind
him so that she was literally sitting on his cock.  Then he started slowly
assaulting my precious wife's precious pussy.  Slowly, grinding, pulling
out, pushing in.  Whoa.  It was the most erotic sight of my life.  Better
than any interracial porno flick.  As the music came to an end, so did his
fucking and he bucked under her like a breeding horse...his ass clenching
and unclenching as he unleashed a torrent of his super potent, fertile
black seed inside her womb.  She too clung to him in the remnant of her
powerful orgasm, slowly nibbling at his strong neck.

   After this there was no music.  It was plain fucking as the five men
took turns with my wife.  One cock in her pussy and one in her mouth - the
fucking continued beyond the end of the class.  Her pussy, by the time they
all took their second helping was a mess - beyond any recognition.  It was
not the pretty pussy belonging to my wife at 7pm.  It was a delicious
cream-pie waiting to be eaten.  But I had to wait till all of them dressed
and left, promising to be back for the next class.  "Cock grooming" class,
as the old man sniggered.

   My wife, exhausted from all the hard fucking slowly dozed off and then I
came out of my hiding place, my cock already erupted inside my pants thrice
without touching.  I switched off the lights and in the utter darkness
knelt next to her raggedy pussy.  I started slowly and it took me 30
minutes to suck out the last drop of black sperm from her mashed pussy. 
But it was worth every drop.  Just as I was sneaking out of the room, I
heard my wife's purring voice, "Maybe next time, you don't need to hide. 
We can do it together you know." I could only nod.