When Breeding Up Means Breeding Black Pt 1

WHEN BREEDING UP MEANS BREEDING BLACK Pt 1 By Peter I am relating these events as a warning. They say 'take good care of your wife or risk losing her forever'. I say, you can try ? but you could well lose her anyway. Especially if she?s a highly sexed horny bitch who naturally prefers black. And often, the instinct to breed is followed by the desire to totally humiliate her former, inadequate mate, as my Sara is enjoying doing to me. After what has happened over the past year, I now realise that the instinct to breed with the better man is one of the strongest physical drives that a woman has. It's part of the primal reproductive instinct to select the strongest mate. And if her husband isn't prime breeding material, no wedding ring will stop a prime female from seizing the opportunity to 'breed up'. That is, to spread her legs for sperm from bigger men with bigger cocks - in other words, the best gene pool she can find. And in my wife's case, breeding up' meant 'breeding black'.' My name is Darren Walters. I come from a family of intellectuals, and although I do not consider myself unattractive, I must sadly accept the fact that I have lost my wife to a superior man. My demure and very beautiful wife, Sara, has made a simple choice - she has decided to forsake what I have to offer, in order to ?do what comes natural?, as she puts it - with an African American male. A man she genuinely considers to be my biological superior. And not only does she not shy away from letting me know it, the bitch has become a total sadist, getting her kicks by witnessing my humiliation and pain. Oh, it turns her on all right. Her new antics have turned her into what can be described as a classic 'bitch on heat'. I do not use the term lightly. She is 'on heat' because she's a highly sexual, fertile woman in her early thirties, the time of a life when the sex drive of the female of the species is at its height. Sadly, I must also use the term 'bitch' because that's exactly what she is to me. She now only has sex with her black lover (a quite well-known rap artist who goes by the stage name of Masta D), sleeps in a separate bed to me (when she's home at all) and won't even allow me to take my 4 inch cock out in her company. And that?s without the beatings. However, her faithfulness to her new, ?better? man does not stop her using highly provocative language in front of me, degrading all white men as she flaunts her shapely body inches from me and even rubs against me. But she always keeps her big breasts, shapely ass and stocking-clad legs inside her daring outfits, and well away from my lustful touch. And given the state of my balls and the painful welts on my back inflicted by Sara, her lover and her black cock-loving slut friends, I would not be capable of making love to her now, even if I were allowed to try. As Sara knows full well, there is nothing I can do but obey her orders. I am effectively under house arrest, and as I am a convicted sex offender, she is legally entitled to have me beaten to within an inch of my life. The strange thing is, I still love her madly. But it hurts terribly when I'm forced to stand, shackled in the garage after a whipping as my darling wife sexes her lover in our marital bed. Half the street can hear all the noises Sara makes as she takes his big Negro penis, loving it pumping inside her and spraying her womb with his fertile sperm as her stocking-clad legs lock tight round his muscular back. But I?m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. I blame rap. She was always into rap and hip hop, despite the fact that I dislike the so-called music intently. It was how we had one of our first arguments in our marriage. You see, I'm a more classical man myself. Don't get me wrong, I can listen to John Denver or the Carpenters, but after suffering the 'music' of that Snoopy Dog person, Two-pack, the Live Crew, all the names (including Masta D) time after time, I finally put my foot down and refused to allow Sara to play her favourite CD?s in my presence. To me, it was so infantile, there was no melody, and worst of all, the lyrics all seemed to be bragging about anti-social and even criminal practices. From what I could hear there seemed to be little to the words other than bragging about the aforementioned, plus the 'artist's' virility, penile size and - unbelievably - physical violence against those who dared to 'dis'. Masta D was one of the worst offenders. As I said, when I confronted her about it we had our first major spat. That must be just over a year after I married her, when I still foolishly went around thinking I was the luckiest man on the planet for scoring such a trophy wife. Anyway, she said that if I remained intent on banning her from listening to her music in our house, she would be forced to listen to it at her friend Caroline's place. I was apprehensive, but let it pass. Then later that month I met Caroline's husband Arnie, by chance, on the street. The couple had recently moved to the wrong side of the tracks after he was layed off by his pharmaceutical company and lost a disability case. I was surprised to see he had a black eye and what looked like a broken nose. One thing led to another, and we went for a drink. During the tearful hour that followed, he had told me that his sweet Caroline had gotten involved with 'the wrong type of crowd' - a group of gangsta rap artists and hangers-on - and he 'did not feel safe in his own home any more.' Reading between the lines, I surmised that - on Caroline's insistence - she and Arnie had initially started hosting parties for a bunch of rap guys with their spoiled white ?bitches? in tow. It seems that she wasn?t so sweet after all cos one night she was high on coke, and so fucking besotted with her handsome, rich black stud lover that the slut ended up spreading her legs for him right there on the sofa, without a concern for her poor husband. The injuries he sustained were due to an attack by her black lover when Arnie tried to separate the rutting couple. Shortly after our meet, Caroline, who was pregnant with her black boyfriend's baby, filed for divorce from poor Arnie. I became very worried about the situation with Sara and Caroline, but they were old high school buddies, and there was little I could do prevent Sara going round. She always looked stunning when going out, invariably wearing a tight dress, high heels and plenty of makeup. Although she said that they were spending the evenings alone, I became more and more apprehensive. The next thing I knew Sara was enrolling for a course that Caroline already attended at the local college. Called 'African Studies' the syllabus was quite controversial. Indeed, I remembered there had been some furore in the local press about it being 'racist' and 'anti white' although the allegations were never proven. One night, when Sara was at Caroline's place, I managed to sneak a look her coursework, and couldn't believe what I was reading. One module, called 'Black Biology - the Proliferation of the Strongest Seed' was full of what I saw as incredible claims that black men were much more attractive to women of all races because they were physically superior. The next evening, after a few glasses of wine, I tried to quiz my darling wife about her studies, and asked her whether she really believed all that stuff about blacks being superior. She replied that blacks were certainly better in many physical respects. I detected a note of scorn in her voice that I hadn't heard before. 'Don't you know why Africans win so many medals at the Olympics, Darren?' she asked coyly. Then, blushing and smiling slightly, she opened her folder to show me a copy of an article in a medical journal, which had been reproduced in 'Black Power' magazine. Beside a picture of a black, muscled 100m runner in a lycra costume, the article referred to a survey of a test group of black and white males. The results apparently 'proved' that blacks were between 45 and 290% bigger in penis size, had over 62% more stamina and were up to 240% more fertile. 'Sara, I don't know if you should be reading this' I said. 'It's kinda?racist - isn't it?' She looked at me kind of strangely, and with an almost evil glint in her eye, said 'How on earth can it be racist when it's true? White women are naturally more attracted to black men. I don't care what you think, anyway. I'm going to bed.' When I followed her to bed later, I silently undressed, then decided I had to try to make things right between us. It had been a long while since we had had sex, so I tried to initiate mating by gently stroking her beautiful soft body. She seemed to respond at first, sighing and arching her breasts, and giving me an aching hard on. She allowed me to massage her feet, then she made me kiss her toes and stroke and kiss her luscious thighs. However, when desire overcame me and I tried to kiss her bulging, bra-encased breasts, she pushed me away quite violently. 'Keep your fucking hands off my tits?, she muttered. 'If anyone's racist, it's you.' I was outraged and in a frenzy, and I?m ashamed to say, tried to force myself on her. I pinned her down with my weight, and tried to open her legs with my hand. I may have even slapped her head. At that moment I desired her madly, and hated her all at the same time. All of a sudden I felt white pain. She had managed to ram one of her fists into my balls. Immediately I got off her, and curled into a ball on the floor. It hurt so much I couldn?t speak. ?Serves you fucking right? she breathed. With that, she turned over to sleep, as I sobbed in pain and anger. 21919 1.82/512345