I guess we were just naïve. That is the only explanation in my mind as I watch Bridget, my wife of 17 years, standing before the bathroom mirror, the one with the bright lights running around the sides, as she carefully applies her make up-dark almost black smoky eyes that cause her blue eyes to jump out in stark contrast. There is only a hint of blush at her high cheekbones, and she is pursing her full lips as she applies a bright red glossy lipstick.

Cameron says that the tradition of a woman applying red to her lips for enhancing her appearance relates to a woman's swollen red vaginal lips when she is aroused. I don't know if that is true, because sometimes I think Cameron is full of shit-but Bridget takes nearly everything he says as gospel, thus her application of the brightest lipstick she could find.

On the bed are a short black leather shirt, and a thin leopard print button up blouse. This is her attire for the night. A pair of black high heels rest on the floor, tall spike ones with the buckle around the upper ankle.

"How do I look?" Bridget asks, tilting her hip with one hand resting on it, a knee slightly bent and in front of her leg, the taut muscles rippling at her calf and the long indention of the outside of her upper thigh. The combination of fitness and her long limbs was an exceptional combination. Cameron's insistence on a more aggressive workout routine with her trainer, Reginald, was certainly showing results. Bridget was a step above trophy wife now.

"Slutty." I said.

"Good," she smiled. "Just the effect I want." She stopped. "You say that just because I'm naked?"

"No, but I can see what you will be wearing. Slutty pretty well describes it." She rewarded me with a smile in return.

Bridget pulled the skirt and top on quickly; she buckled the straps on her shoes, the angle of one leg crossing the other as she buckled giving a clear view of her bare pussy. She rose, looked at herself in the mirror one final time, shook her hair loose, and buttoned the top up beneath her breasts, leaving the rest of the buttons undone. Her overnight bag was already packed, but nothing indicated the length of time she expected to be gone-as skimpy as she dressed now she could live out of that small overnight bag for days, except for the shoes, which she had in a large black and white tote. From the number of shoes there it would not be only an overnight. She took a deep breath and sighed.

"Well, I guess this is it."

"Yes, I guess it is."

"Have a good time," I said halfheartedly.

"Awww," Bridget said, "Should I have Ronica come over and try to cheer you up while I'm gone?"

"I have her number; I'll give her a call if I get the need."

Bridget's smiling face became serious. "Are you ok?"

"Sometimes more OK than others," I admitted.

"You know we can stop if you really want," she said.

"Now?" I asked.

"Not now, silly, you know I have people depending on me now. But after I come back if you are certain that is what you want."

"I'm not certain, that is the problem."

"I know, so we both play it by ear until we know, right?"

"Right." I agreed.

"Meanwhile I am going to enjoy it all to the max. You are still OK with that?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She pulled me close to her, not kissing, as it would mess her lipstick, but pressing those big soft breasts against me, a strong whiff of perfume wafting. By instinct I reached my hand up to cup one, reveling in the softness at my fingers and the hard bud of a nipple under my thumb, a gold ring going through that nipple.

"Mmmmm" she sighed, then with her mouth to my ear, "I'm in my working garb, no freebies on the merchandise." I released her breast and stepped away one step back, my arm still holding hers above her elbow.

"Oh, almost forgot," she said, reaching down to her ring finger and removing her engagement ring and wedding ring, dropping them into the jewelry box inside her dresser drawer. "That puts the married me out of my mind until I get back," she said, more to herself than to me.

My mind was at war-part of me wanting to say to hell with it all, shove her back on the bed and fuck her hard until she was screaming in passion. Another part of me was rock hard at how slutty my wife was dressed, and in anticipation of what would be happening over the next few days, and the erotic sexual fireworks we would enjoy as she told her tale upon her return.

"I love you. And I love you for not objecting to my experiencing this."

"I love you too," was my terse reply. She hugged me again and picked up her bag and tote as the doorbell rang.

I started to follow her to the door but she was faster, even on the heels, and the door had closed by the time I reached the edge of the living room. I walked to the front window and peered out from behind the curtain. Cameron was holding the door open on his black Escalade as my wife climbed in. He glanced at the house, not seeing me but with a smug knowing grin just the same, closed her door. He backed the SUV into the street and was gone.

I walked over to the refrigerator and filled a tall water glass with crushed ice, then to the bar where I poured it to the brim with Maker's Mark. That should do it. Then I went to my recliner, leaned it back, and began to play a video to remind me that I was not crazy for going along with my wife going away with Cameron.

The scene opened with a beautiful blond in the embrace of a massive black man, his skin a deep ebony, his hands covering the woman's breast and he tells her loud enough to be heard on the video, "I am going to own you." It was from a single position. Hidden probably. Bridget didn't know she was being taped at the time.

This was the first time Bridget and Cameron had met, the closing minutes of their first kiss. It had not happened yet. She had not yet let him strip her naked, tongue her pussy, and shove his thick uncircumcised cock into her wet cunt. She had not yet begged him to "take my pussy", or told him as he claimed her pussy, "It's yours." Of course, as I continued to watch, my hand inside my pants stroking my rock hard cock, I knew that the stripping and fucking would be happening in mere minutes on the video.

It had not yet happened but I knew it was coming-the transition of my monogamous chaste wife whose pussy had known no other cock but mine into a black cock slut stretched by a huge black cock.

That transition had happened that quickly, Cameron maintains.

I continued to watch, unable to turn away, as if hypnotized to the tangle of black and white limbs and bodies on the screen. Yes, I watched her become a black cock slut right before my eyes.