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his is a story about Miles and Amanda Deacon, a progressive, white married couple who wanted to make a difference in race relations. After numerous visits to "Harmony" meetings hosted by the local chapter of the Black Power Movement, the Deacon's were urged to "take the next step" in advancing social change and helping the black race. Hesitating at first, the couple relented to the pressure from Zara Snow, a representative of the Atonement and Reparation Committee of the BPM. Not wanting to appear racist, they decided together to give up their White Privilege and follow Zara's instructions sanctioned by the Black Power Movement.

Zara Snow, a stunning Caucasian woman in her mid-twenties, was a high level member of the Black Power Movement, or BPM. She was a psychologist, ther****t, life coach, and a devoted advocate for racial justice. She was also extremely bisexual. She had studied the couple when they frequented rallies and appeared in small gathering in both Black Pine and downtown. While they stayed in the back, they seemed generally interested in the guest speakers from influential black men and white women. Zara figured their profile, easiest with liberal whites, and was confident they would contribute to advancing the agenda of the BPM. Skilled in the art of persuasion and manipulation, she carried out her plans and convinced the couple to meet the price to win trust from the BPM and the black race.

The events following are told by the husband, Miles.

It seemed like an eternity driving the two lane state road to the outskirts of Black Pine. There were not too many on-coming traffic especially since it was near 11 O'clock at night. Somewhere between the closed steel mill and the abandoned slaughterhouse we were looking for the motel. I looked over at Amanda, wearing her tan full length jacket and red high heels. I didn't get the chance to see what she chose to wear underneath. The heels were six inch, "stripper" shoes. Red and new, I never seen them before. She never wore anything like that before.

"Are you ... nervous?" I asked, trying to break the tension and remind her we were a couple.

"A little." she replied, "I'm anxious. To be honest I'm looking forward to this!"

We were prevented from having sex for over a week, ever since we had that private meeting with Zara and agreed to this "event of interracial power sharing". Zara was so serious! We had to have a puritan life before this evening. No sex, no talk of sex, and we had to sleep in separate bedrooms. We were not to see each other naked. My celibacy was atoning sins of the white race but it was more about Amanda saving her energy and building frustration. She was given, what I understand, vitamins to build up her stamina and improve her cardiovascular system. I think they were energy pills that kept her from sleeping well at night and made her increasingly short-tempered, even hostile to me in the latter days. We barely spoke two words that day before we acknowledged we needed to leave the house for the motel in a couple hours.

I didn't want to reply to Amanda. What words could I say? But she confessed.

"I'm really ... horny! I don't know if its the lack of sex. the pills, or the videos Zara made me watch. But I need this, Miles." Amanda said with a confident, but evil smile.

I never asked. That was part of the program. Amanda watched private videos produced by the BPM. I figured they were motivation videos depicting the plight of African peoples and the lack of diversity in towns and cities like Black Pine. Her video sessions were scheduled. Text messages would instruct her of a new upload. Her logins and viewing habits were recorded. Her participation was necessary before the appointment would be finalized.

"We're almost there. I think that's it around the corner." I said after a heavy sigh. I couldn't believe I was going through with this. I couldn't believe we both were going through this shared contempt of our race. I could see the bright street lights illuminating the lot below of the recently constructed "Black Owned Motel". At the time I didn't realize the pun. I figured it was a business owned by an African American and part of the Mayor's redevelopment drive.

"It's room 2." Amanda told me, reading off her phone. The text from Zara coming in just moments before pulling into the lot.

I pulled into the sketchy looking place, driving past the office and into the circle of cheap-looking, small, connected units of this motel of adult meetings and activities. I sighed and had no one to blame for the moral decay of Black Pine. Seeing room 2 to my left, Amanda instructed me to park at the far end of the lot. This would mean we would walk across the lot, mingling with the strangers lurking the motel. I meekly protested at this deliberate and risky idea of parking far away. But Amanda became hostile.

"There!" she demanded.

I couldn't help but to look at the patrons. A white woman in her late thirties, in a short dress and heels, being escorted by two black men to her room a few doors away from room 2. A group of three black men were peering through the window and its slightly opened curtains in a room further down. They were laughing, nodding their heads, and grabbing their crotches. Finally, a pair of very well dressed, athletic gentlemen hopped out of the front of their expensive SUV and opened the rear doors. A slender, well-kept woman in blonde hair and early forties stepped out with a smile. She was wearing tight yoga shorts and a cropped shirt with under-boob. Amanda was too busy checking her make up to notice I was purposely slowing down to see who would step out the other side. It was a nerdy-looking teen aged girl in glasses with dark hair, about eighteen. Wearing sneakers, black jeans, and a comic-book T-shirt, she looked nervous or lost. But she wasn't going anywhere except following her mom and friends into the room.

As I parked the car, Amanda quickly hopped out and demanded to open the trunk. White guilt was hitting me. I really wanted to wake up and go back to my privileged life. My Amanda is 26, dark blonde hair to her shoulders. She sported a nice body and an ass worth looking at and grab. I really wished I had appreciated it and the fact she kept her body fit for good sex. Amanda flung off her jacket, stowing it in the car. Closing the trunk, my jaw dropped in disbelief.

Amanda was wearing nothing but a red, string bikini.

She would have put prostitutes to shame. The bikini must have been expensive to display her breasts as they did. Sexual fruit ripe for grabbing and sucking. I felt i was losing my exclusive rights to them. Her g-string bottom was soft porn worthy. No decent woman would go to the beach in such thing. Wearing the strap to her tiny purse around her shoulder (a purse so small it would barely hold a mobile phone, she began strutting towards the room.

"Walk behind me." she commanded.

What should have been an erotic moment was outright embarrassing. This is my wife I'm watching swinging her hips. The stilettos were making loud announcements that a sexually confident woman was approaching. It didn't take long for the patrons lingering the lot to notice. I can hear muttered words, "Shit! Oh damn! Fuck, fuck, yeah." I knew Amanda could hear them too. Though I didn't see her face, I only imagined she was smiling. No, not smiling. She would have a determined look on her face like she belonged here. We stepped on the walkway adjacent to the motel building and its doors. The doors were cheap, thin, and didn't mute any noises from inside. The windows and walls strangely seem to amplify them.

...thump...thump...thump, "Fuck me! Fuck me! " a feminine voice screamed out of room 10.

A heavy beats of rap music from room 9. I barely made out a moan.

Room 8 was quiet but room 7 had loud mattress squeaks.

Room 5 had the three gentlemen peek through the curtains. They long noticed Amanda approaching. Each smiled, grinning ear to ear. They nodded their heads and boldly grabbed their crotch as a greeting to her.

"Looking good, white girl!" one said loudly.

Amanda put her hand on his chest while the other black gentlemen reached to grab her left ass cheek and gave it a lustful squeeze.

She giggled, "You three are so cute!".

They were reserved otherwise and let us pass. I walked by them like a ghost. No jokes or belittling comments. I was invisible to them.

The room numbers were a countdown of sorts as we reached number 2. Whatever life I had with Amanda was about to change. That was the point of the surrender. I remembered everything. The humming from the street lamps. The booming base from the music coming from one of the vehicles parked in lot. Pot smoke billowing from the windows.

Amanda knocked on the door. The sounds of high-heeled footsteps behind the door soon followed.

Hearing the door unlock, it slowly opened, but partially, and a face of a woman peered from the other side. The door opened just enough for us to squeeze in. Amanda first, her breasts rubbing against the door frame and ass rubbing against our host. I slowly followed and stepped in, ignoring those from the parking lot leering. With the door locking behind us I got our first look at Zara Snow. She was dressed in tight, pink hot pants and a tight leather corset, and heels. She was a model-beautiful white woman. With straight, blonde hair to middle of her back, she wore make-up perfectly that highlighted her femininity and power.

"I'm so glad you made it! Amanda, you look absolutely awesome in that outfit!" Zara complimented.

"I did everything you instructed me, Zara." Amanda replied.

Zara followed, "This will be an important night in your life."

Amanda brushed back her hair and smiled. She was getting comfortable ahead of the night activities and ceremony. "Well, we are here to fight racism and social injustice." Amanda was hoping for some emotional reassurance from our new "life coach" and SJW adviser.

Zara gave a reassuring nod, "This is will go a long way in your standing in the black community. You'll be brought into the inner circles and trusted to participate in select BPM programs." Amanda nodded her head once, acknowledging the repeated mantras spoken in rallies. "We're obligated to serve ... the black race."

Zara acknowledged the sounds of running water from the bathroom sink. With the bathroom door closed, Zara told us "Kwame is in the bathroom getting prepared. " I learned about Kwame from the images sent to Amanda's mobile phone. He was the "Entitled Black Male", Amanda and Zara decided together to take part in the ritual. Kwame was one of many and I was unsure of the count. I never interfered from Amanda's web surfing or when I spotted her and Zara speak at rallies and followed up on the phone. Sometimes they would speak as late as 2:00 in the morning.

"Let's go over the rules." Zara said to me.

Zara led me to a cold, plastic chair that must have been molded in the 1970's. It was blotchy colored brown and rather uncomfortable. It was in the corner facing the queen-sized bed with cheap, atrocious colored sheets. Zara led me to sit in the chair while Amanda was looking in the mirror adjusting her hair. She did not notice the hurried etching some vandal scribbled on it, "White girls will be black cock sluts".

I was calmly instructed, "Sit in this chair and stay quiet. Do not say a word to your wife or Kwame. They will not even acknowledge you. Stay still until he is finished. You can sit and enjoy it or squirm. Your choice." I nodded by head and Zara went to Amanda and held her hand.

"Are you ready?" Zara asked. Amanda meekly nodded and Zara whispered, "Good. Kwame hasn't fucked pussy in two days. He's quite ... agitated. He'll be very aggressive with you. Hope you're emotionally prepared for that."

Amanda took a deep breath before looking down and away and rubbed her knees together. The tension was overwhelming her. Zara mercifully stepped to the bathroom door, "OK, get ready to meet your new black boyfriend." She rapped on the door twice, "Amanda is ready for you, Kwame." The sounds of running water muted. Three anxious seconds passed. The door knob clicked as it twisted and door opened. I took a deep breath as Kwame stepped out. He was an athletic, attractive dark-skinned man, sporting a shallow beard, and toned chest. Kwame put on a confident, yet very serious expression on his face. Wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs, he sported a large bulge that drew attention from everyone in the room. The large huge muscle flexed down his right leg.

As Zara stepped behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. Kwame reached out both his hands to hold Amanda's. "You're a beautiful woman, Amanda." he complimented. "And built for pleasing strong, aggressive alpha males. Please spin and let me look at you."

Obedient, Amanda slowly twirled, arched her back and pointed her ass to him. He placed his hands on her hips and with experience, spun her around to face him while undoing her bikini bottom so it would fall to the floor. Kwame hissed, letting his lust come to a slow boil. He kissed her. Then kissed her again before their mouths opened and their tongues met. His left hand caressed her belly before reaching down to feel her smooth, shaved pussy.

This was a surprise. I never saw Amanda with anything less than a well trimmed bush. My one request for shaving her precious parts was met with a wife's scorn and a lecture about decency and the effects of porn on the male psyche. "That's a fine, shaved pussy. You did that for me?" Kwame asked.

Amanda looked into Kwame's eyes, "Yes. It's for you. For your pleasure." Kwame nodded in approval. He kissed her again and Amanda never noticed or cared her bikini top now joined the bottom on the floor. With one hand on her ass, the other took possession of her right breast. With his thumb and fore finger, he pinched her nipple and gave it a pull. Amanda took a sudden deep breath and threw her head back. Kwame took a mouthful of her tit and sucked them. Not too hard, but enough to show his need for them. After pulling her nipple with his teeth, he put his mouth to her left ear.

"You never been fucked by a black man before, huh?" he asked, teasing her.

Amanda put both hands behind his neck and shook her head, too ashamed to voice her answer. "I want to prove I'm not racist. Please, please use me. This white body is yours."

They kissed deeply, vigorously with open mouths. I was still in a state of shock and utter shame. How could a few noble visits demonstrating for peace and diversity led to this? I can honestly say, to this moment, I was unable to feel arousal.

"On your knees, Amanda. Suck my cock and be a slut." he demanded. Amanda agreed and went to her knees. Slowly, he pulled down Kwame's boxer briefs freeing his engorged cock. All 10 and a half inches of it. It snapped up and its head made contact with Amanda's chin. At the first glimpse of his manhood, Zara let out a deep exhale and gave my shoulders a firm squeeze. My wife pushed the boxers to the floor then immediately put her nose underneath his balls. She took a deep breath and began worshiping them with her tongue. Lapping them up, she made her lips up his shaft with tender kisses and lips. With her hands on his thighs, she put Kwame's cock head between her lips and began sucking cock.

"Yes," Zara whispered before saying louder so Amanda could hear, "look, her first black cock. And not her last."

Amanda bobbed her head slowly, pushing more of his shaft towards her throat. It was sensual as her eyes were focused on Kwame's. I didn't want to think this was love but duty. Amanda was into it. Kwame put his hand behind her head in approval and nodded. Rather than keeping his mouth shut and enjoying it like most men, Kwame reminded her what he was. In control.

"That's it. Suck my black dick. Prove you're a slut." he commanded. "This is your first black cock, wifey."

Amanda began to bob her head faster, stopped and answered Kwame meekly, "Yes. This is my first black dick." She was becoming more aroused and accustomed in this sex act, she used her tongue to feel every vein in his member. "Tell him you're a slut, Amanda." Zara suggested. Amanda pulled her mouth off Kwame's cock for a quick moment uttering, "I'm a slut! (spit) (suck) (lick/spit) A white slut!". She would have gone longer but she had to add another commentary, "And this is not my last black cock!"

"Do you understand?" Zara whispered to me, "This is black power."

Amanda returned to putting Kwame's balls into her mouth while stroking his cock with a hand. Kwame was in sexual delight, his aggravated lust temporarily sated in its moment of racial conquest. His arrogance, his confidence made him boast more sexual demands. "Damn. Eat that cock!" he grabbed his dick and instructed Amanda to stick out her tongue. Smack, smack, smack. His cock bouncing off it. This wasn't porn, but my wife engulfed in a black man's dominance.

"She never sucked your cock like that, I bet?" Zara teased. "It's OK. We're seeing Amanda's true self with a dominant alpha male."

Amanda wasn't able to stay mute and passive. Perhaps, it was the videos brainwashing her. She belted out a reply to her lover, "I want to serve you. I want to please the black race!" With a hand returning to the back of her head, Kwame pushed his cock back into her mouth. His precum making Amanda drunk by now. He then began face fucking her. "White girls are whores! White girls are whores!" he chanted. Gagging, Amanda grabbed some air as streams of drool dropped to her breasts. With her right hand, she scooped some spittle before quickly looking up into Kwame's eyes and laughed at herself. Several inches of hard dick slapped her cheek. Kwame needed more.

"Tell me you're a black man's whore!" he ordered.

Amanda nodded, "This white girl is a black man's whore! Fucking use me. Fuck up my race!".

Oh no! I thought to myself. This was more than sex to bridge the races. This was using sex to indoctrinate my wife into something more sinister. How naive my white ass was!

Amanda was brought to her feet before getting on the bed on her elbows and knees. She presented her ass and pussy while looking behind her. "Fuck me, Kwame. Make me a black cock slut!"

I'm sitting right here, Amanda.

Kwame with one hand stoking his raging dick, he bent down and licked her pussy and ass for moments. Amanda was enjoying posing for her lover. Only seconds away from seeing what was left of my upstanding wife disappear. All for racial tolerance and equality.

Kwame rubbed his cock against Amanda's puffy and excited pussy lips. I can tell she felt a wave of electricity while Kwame was high on his sexual conquest. Grabbing her hips, he pushed in. Amanda's hyperventilating turned into quiet, "what the fuck". I could not deny it and no longer had the strength from keeping myself from thinking about it. Kwame had a large cock. It was massive, powerful, steel hard, and screaming for release. I couldn't have that myself. Would I obey and submit to a man with a cock like that? The head of his black manhood penetrated Amanda. She put her head down and squeezed the sheets and moaned. I would have thought Kwame would take the time to say something dirty, boasting his masculinity. But he kept quiet, his mind thinking only about filling her.

Taking his time, he pushed deeper, stretching her womb until he was half way. "The superior black race conquers another white wife." Zara celebrated, "This is what racial justice looks like, white boy." A few more inches made its way inside before Amanda spoke, "Fuck me! I ... love ... this. I ... love you!" My heart sunk but my dick stiffened. Is this what cuckolding supposed to do to me?"

I didn't notice at first, but Zara had removed her corset and shorts. She instructed me to sit on my hands before coming around and sitting on my lap. I was embarrassed but became aroused knowing Zara felt my hardened dick. Putting an arm around my neck for support, she took her other hand and began masturbating her pussy.

Kwame surprised Amanda and the room with a sudden thrust, attempting to fully penetrate her in one, strong push. But it only made an inch of progress. And it sent Amanda into orgasm. Her body rewarded her with a wave of pleasure for finding a virile, strong man with a cock filling her deep so as its seed can reach deep into her womb. Her primal instincts kicked in trying to coerce her to become addicted to her lover. Amanda pushed her ass back. She was becoming rapidly accustomed to Kwame's size. Amanda wanted more. With another inch or two, Kwame reached for Amanda's hair and gave it a tug before his groin met her ass. Full penetration. A wild "SLAP" across Amanda's ass sent her into ecstasy and another orgasm. Zara couldn't hold back a giggle. Kwame started his thrusts, slow but methodical.

"Kwame! Kwame!" Amanda repeated her lover's name. Something she never done for me. "Fuck my white pussy. Fuck my race." She buried her head into the bed again while another hard slap made across her butt. "I hate my race so much!"

I tried to look away. This attempt to bring together the races was becoming too uncomfortable for me. Or maybe it was my whiteness feeling threatened? I even looked to Zara, the manipulating tramp, to comfort me in my moment of inferiority. "Be happy for your wife. She's giving up her pride, ego, and self dignity to help a black man and is rewarded for it. Or you can be happy for Kwame who is clearly enjoying your wife's company.

Was I supposed to feel empathy for Kwame? Were all those words spoken at rallies about this moment? To feel for the black man? To sacrifice for his wants and needs? To make sacrifices for his pleasure? Did the size of his manhood and need for rough sex entitle him to more than me? But, I'm white.

The rhythm of their intercourse was picking up. Amanda was struggling between moans, mind numbing delight, and catching her breath. It was quiet for minute before race play surfaced again. Zara couldn't help but encourage them. "Look at you Amanda. You slut! What would your cuckold husband think if he knew you were a black cock whore?" The question seem ironic. Of course I know. I'm here watching. But in Amanda's mind, I was nowhere.

"I'm such a terrible wife." she confessed, "I'm just a worthless slut." Amanda's eyes began to tear, almost sobbing. Was it the innocent, faithful wife inside her trying to survive? Kwame would have no patience for that. Pulling her hair again, he yanked her up on her knees and forced her to arch her back. Turning her head to him, she opened her mouth and Kwame spat inside. "You belong to the black man, white girl! You belong to me tonight, white pussy and all!" He spat in her mouth a second time.

Kwame pulled out. I was praying this was the end. One massive ejaculation and we can go home. But I wasn't the one having sex. Kwame wasn't near finishing. I could hear Amanda whimper as her womb felt emptiness with Kwame's withdrawal. With another slap on her ass, Kwame laid on his back on the bed. Amanda took his order and started to suck his dick again, tasting her pussy. I didn't know where this was coming from. All these erotic, pleasurable acts I see with porn she never performed on me. To Kwame, it was just another night of release with a white woman. What a god!

From our seat, I got a good look at Amanda's swollen pussy. It was bright pink and a symbol of the beautiful pleasure her lover shared with her. Kwame wasn't near being satisfied. As a cuckold, I began to understand his need and his frustrations. He needed an hour long session of rough, aggressive sex just for release. I began to get the feeling he was raising Amanda's libido to new heights. I looked at her pussy again. It was ready for penetration, inviting an able man to finish and spread his seed inside of her. Amanda crawled up and tossed off her stilettos. She placed her feet flat on the bed on each side of Kwame's waist and lowered her body with his stiff cock in her hand. The cock fit snug returning into her wet, pleasure hole. Amanda bit her lip as she dropped her weight trying to make his entire cock disappear.

With both hands on his abs, she started doing squats, fucking and impaling herself. She began to gasp, trying to say something but no words coming out. She took her right hand to squeeze a breast before putting the fingers into her mouth. "Look at you. So beautiful. Fucking me." cheered Kwame. It was the most sweet thing he said since they started fucking. Kwame, the luckiest man on Earth at the moment, continued to encourage her like a man encouraging a virgin. He was smooth as he was aggressive. "You go on and please yourself. Take that cock. It's yours." said he.

I could tell Amanda experienced another orgasm riding Kwame. She had exhausted all her strength after repeated squats. She dropped to her knees and leaned forward into an embrace. Her waist wrapped in Kwame's arms. Panting, she smiled and told him, "I don't want to be a good, faithful wife. I want to be a fuck toy for you and all black men." With his dick still inside her, she began gliding up and down his chest, rubbing her breasts. They kissed deeply. Amanda lifted her lips, "I love you. I love the black race."

With another deep kiss and both of Kwame's hands grabbing a breast, he spun over putting himself on top of her. He lifted her ankles over his shoulders and started full, deep thrusts. Pinned underneath, Amanda was submissive and helpless. At the mercy of Kwame's lust, she was sent into sexual overdrive. "Fuck me!" she screamed, "Cum inside me. Please put your seed in my womb ... please ... fuck my cunt!"

Kwame picked up the pace. But as much as he needed to cum after two days of abstinence, he needed to show Amanda she was little more than a piece of ass. A cum dumpster. A white girl doing her duty. "You think you deserve my black semen? Racist girl who waited this long to give pussy to a black man?" Amanda reached out her hand to caress Kwame's face. "I want justice! Use my body. Use my pussy to fuck the white man! Fuck the white race."

Kwame and Amanda stared at each other in disgusted, yet sexual looks. Kwame didn't stop his rhythm. I think he wanted to cum but was waiting for something to put him over the edge. Zara wiped her wet, sticky fingers across my lips, "She will beg and promise everything for his black jizz." Zara warned.

"What are you? What are you, Amanda?" Kwame demanded. Amanda sneered her reply, "I'm a racist who turned into a black cock slut. Fuck me, please. I'll fuck any black man you want. Please, cum inside me. Let's extinguish the white race together. I'll become anything you want!"

Amanda's begging and new found hatred for the white race made Kwame's cockhead swell its deepest purple. He could feel his balls energize. Just the thought of cumming inside this racist-turned-whore was enough to spew his seed. Kwame wanted one more vow, "This is reparations for the racism the black race suffered, white slut. Do you believe in paying reparations?"

With no hesitation, she answered, "Yes! I'll pay reparations! Fuck! Fuck me and the white race!"

With Zara's applause, Kwame made one, last hard thrust leaving balls deep in Amanda's wet, well used pussy. His erotic roar was so powerful I had a ruined orgasm in my pants. But Amanda, she was on the receiving end of stream after stream of thick, hot, cum that sent her into a final fury of orgasms. Kwame, finally out of breath, dropped on top of Amanda and they returned to a romantic embrace with tender kisses. I could only imagine the puddles of cum dripping out of her pussy.

Kwame whispered into her ear.

"Are you a black cock slut now?" he asked and Amanda agreed.
"Will you spread your legs when I need to fuck?" he asked and Amanda agreed.
"Will you whore for me?" he asked. Amanda gave it an extra second of thought and agreed.

I returned to feeling shock at what I witnessed. What was done can never be undone. I'm a cuckold to a slut wife who was initiated into the Black Power Movement. Zara stood, still topless and sporting very wet panties. "Miles," she said to me, "if Amanda doesn't follow Kwame to the shower, you can take her home. But if she goes in with him, you're out of the picture for a few days while she spends time getting to know her new, black lover. Either way, congratulations. You're a cuckold."

As a delighted Kwame crawled off of her, I took a glimpse of his flaccid but still large cock drooping to the floor. It was sticky and wet with fluids. I watched carefully how Kwame will make his way to the bathroom. He leaned and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. His beard scratching her forcing a giggly response out of her. Amanda looked exhausted, motionless, perhaps physically incapable of getting out of bed. I can see white goo dripping between her legs. I already began planning how I would move the car near the door and carry her out. Kwame took his first steps and his left foot reached the edges of the bathroom. Amanda sprung to her feet as if she was resurrected with new life and energy. She reached out to place her hand on Kwame's ass, grabbing his attention. They held hands and disappeared into the small bathroom.

Zara handed me Amanda's purse. "You can leave." she advised. "I'll make sure nothing happens to her and will contact you when she's ready to be your wife again. Remember, she chose this."

I was struggling for words. Zara noticed and stepped close to me. "Hey, it's alright. You did the right thing. Both you and your wife chose to pay a price for racial justice. The price is just different for the both of you. You've helped make our society stronger. Your marriage will be stronger too. If you both accept change."

I headed out the exit. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. I got an obvious peek of Amanda on her knees cleaning Kwame's dick with a blowjob. Amanda's lips were loud and smacking. Kwame's hand firmly on top of her head and he was talking very dirty again.

Walking past the doors, the way I came in, it was well past midnight. I almost bumped into the woman, blonde and in her thirties who had two, black male escorts. They were walking out of there room with looks of accomplishment on their faces. "I'm going to make my cuckold husband eat my pussy when I get home." she laughed. I felt comfort that I wasn't the only cuck tonight. I made it to my car and sat behind the wheel for a while. Out of a room came the mother and her nerdy daughter with their dates. The nerdy girl wasn't wearing her glasses anymore. Or pants for that matter. She held her jeans in her arm using her T-shirt as an oversized dress. She looked confident and radiant. One of the men lit up some weed and the teen took a puff while her mom was flirting with her date. Both men circled the once-nerd girl and reached their hands underneath to grab some ass and tits. She protested little, giggled, demanding another toke before lifting her shirt inviting them to spank her ass. They hopped back into the SUV and drove away.

Curious, I opened Amanda's purse. Zara stuffed inside her cell phone and bikini. I left her there naked with only her stripper high-heels. I looked up towards room 2 on the other end of the lot and noticed a small gathering of black men peering through the curtains. I thought ... I knew ... they were safely closed when we first walked in. They had opened it to draw attention. The men nodded their heads and grabbed their crotch. It was time for me to take Amanda's purse and drive home.

As I started the engine and began to drive off the lot of the Black Owned Motel, I saw other parked vehicles, expensive vehicles with men sitting behind their steering wheel. All white men. All waiting. Funny, how I didn't notice that the first time. It made me think of the mirror etched in room 2. "White girls will be black cock sluts".