TITLE    : Home For the Holidays
STORYID  : home-for-the-holidays-30
SUMMARY  : An angry white teen grows into his role as a cuckold.
AUTHOR   : OnyxMasters@lit
DATE     : 2022-11-27
CATEGORY : interracial-erotic-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |bbc|bnwo|domination|humiliation|cuckold|black bred|cheating|mother|daughter|girlfriend|


This story starts a lot longer ago than I had considered at the time. For me, it started when I was a senior in high school. My parents had gotten a rather sudden and painful divorce, with my dad being kicked out of the house, leaving me and my sister behind with my mom. He told me years later that she had been cheating, and according to him, lied to the court, claiming he had been abusive in order to get the house for herself. Part of me didn't believe him, because in spite of what happened afterward, I still loved my mom. I was always a bit of a mama's boy, I don't know what else to say. But in hindsight, it all happened way too quickly. My dad had been gone for less than three days before my mom brought a new boyfriend home, who ultimately ended up being my impromptu stepdad (impromptu because they never got married). His name was Tyrell, he was 6'2, a smoker, a drinker, and what has undoubtedly become part of this story, he was black.

I wasn't a child at that point, I knew what people did behind closed doors, but around my house, nothing seemed to be behind closed doors anymore. The first time that became apparent was when I had to come home early due to having a bad cold. The nurse had called my mom repeatedly, but she wasn't answering, an occurrence which became more common after the divorce. Thankfully, we only lived four blocks away, so I was willing to walk home if it meant getting out of class and going home. The walk was fine, but as I arrived home, I could hear the activity before I actually saw it. I had announced myself, but it no one seemed to hear me, or if they did, they didn't care. It was necessary for me to walk through the living room to get to my bedroom, and what did I see? My mom, completely nude, her legs in the air, with Tyrell thrusting himself inside of her right on the couch. The way she was moaning and crying out in pleasure has never left my mind, nor did the sound of his balls slapping against her as continued pounding. They didn't even stop, it was like I didn't exist anymore. But it gets worse.

My sister Kim still lived at home even though she had graduated a year ahead of me. She was 19 and I was 18. We had talked at length about the divorce, and how we didn't know how to feel about this strange man who was suddenly living in our house, and sleeping with our mother. Sleeping being the gentlest term I can put that, considering we heard them having sex through the walls on a near multiple times per day basis after that first major run in. As someone who shared a common wall with them, it was hard to bear, trust me. I got used to sleeping with headphones on. But all that aside, I had started to notice Tyrell was getting a bit flirty with Kim, and that's when he wasn't downright staring at her body. She would be sitting on the couch (that dreaded couch) watching TV, and he would be in the armchair at the end. Except instead of watching the screen, he would be looking directly at her bare feet, or legs if she had on shorts. I'm a guy, I know how guys operate, and I could see him touching himself over his sweatpants, the bulge of his erection unmistakable.

Apparently, Kim was either okay with it, or she got okay with it pretty quickly, because I was coming to the dinner table one night, when I saw something I wish I hadn't. Kim was sitting across from him with a sort of devilish smile on her face, her legs extended to his groin, which she was rubbing with her toes. My mom was busy putting the finishing touches on dinner, while her boyfriend, or whatever you want to consider him at this point, was in the next room getting his dick rubbed by her daughters feet. I made the mistake of hesitating for a moment, at which point he turned angrily to me, and told me to sit down and mind my damn business. I'm not a confrontational guy, so... I did. That was a prelude to a series of coming home from school, and finding the two of them together. The first time, despite not being able to see it, it was clear that she was jerking him off under a blanket on the couch, yet again. The very next day, I came home and saw her blowing him through the front window. The day after that, I caught her riding him on the living room floor, both of them completely nude, the sounds of her screams echoing the trauma of finding my mother the same way. I tried to tell my mom what was happening, but I chickened out. Tyrell was somehow always within earshot, and he felt like a bomb always ready to go off. But it didn't end there, either.

As my senior year went on, I got used to the sights and sounds of him using my mother and sister. How he managed to have that much sex, and not get caught, used to boggle my mind. Not anymore. But despite all of this, I had managed to push on, being as normal as I could be, staying late after school and getting a job to avoid being home. Eventually, I started dating a girl name Kristen, who in the folly of my youth, I fell madly in love with. I had these grand designs to marry her after the prom, and live this amazing sexually charged life together full of fun and adventures. But I made the somehow unforgivable mistake of taking her home to meet my "parents". Which, if you've read this far, I'm sure you know where this is going.

By this point, my mom and my sister were both pregnant with Tyrell's children, though I didn't know it then. Both of them busily working in the kitchen together, laughing and chatting about one thing or another. I had already introduced everyone to Kristen, even Tyrell, who could be cordial when the situation called for it. But I had a bit of a stomach upset and had to use the bathroom, I was nervous at how awkward my prolonged absence was going to be for Kristen, but it turns out that joke was on me. By the time I had returned, he had his hand down the front of her pants and was fingering her while the two of them made out. He had hiked her shirt up, one of her soft pale breasts hanging out, his exposed black hand working her nipple. We had been dating for almost a month now, and it took me that long to get to second base, whereas he had known her for less than twenty minutes, and had not only hit third, but I'm guessing would have gone straight home if not for my being there.

I turned to leave immediately, hearing the soft sounds of her having a hushed orgasm right there in my living room as I departed. I ended up puking in the bushes out front, before collapsing on the grass a sobbing mess. Kristen came out to check on me several minutes later, her clothes back to normal, but it all felt perfunctory. I could see Tyrell standing on the steps leading into the house, having brought her outside, not simply to console me, but to rub in what he had just done. I hated him, but in a sick and sad way, I was also jealous of him. Not that I had any interest in my sister and mother, but I couldn't fathom how he so effortlessly got girls to have sex with him. Everything I did felt like a struggle, for attention, for returned affection, and he just got it. The sad thing was, I was willing to try and work things out with Kristen, but she ended up dumping me the next day after getting a ride home from Tyrell. It shames me to admit it, but I imagined the two of them having sex in the car as I lay masturbating that night. Thinking of her screaming just like the other women in my life had. It was self loathing at it's finest, which leads me to what just happened this Thanksgiving.

After everything that happened, I had kept my head down, avoided dating, I just worked and saved, to move away the second I could. My mom and sister apparently had given up any illusions about what went on in the house, and were openly sharing him. It was disgusting, and borderline incestuous, but it didn't stop. They both had several of his kids, and I became a newfound brother and uncle in the same year I first started attending college. Fast forward ten years, and here I was, working a moderately successful job with a fiance by my side, and the hopes for children of my own on the horizon. They say that time heals all wounds, and I don't think that's true, but it certainly dulled my memory of the pain. Which is why I agreed to come home for Thanksgiving and introduce my future wife to her soon to be family. It was a much fuller family than it used to be, with my mom having had two more boys, and my sister having two boys and one girl. There were literally more black limbs on my family tree than white ones at this point.

So, the two of us travelled back home, meeting the collection of young ones that had subsumed the house, and giving long overdue hugs to my mom and sister, who had started to look a little rough around the edges. According to them, Tyrell wasn't able to work, so the task of bringing home the amount of bacon required to feed everyone took both of their efforts. I even shook hands with Tyrell, who gave me a mostly stony look from his chair, and only stood when Lauralie (my fiance) came in. He of course, gave her the long handshake and the shoulder squeeze, pretending to much more interested in my life than he ever had previously, telling her how beautiful she was. The shy blush and the smile she gave back made me more uncomfortable than I had felt in a long time, but I tried to brush it off. He made a point of sitting across from her at the dinner table, keeping the eye contact and conversation going, while the rest of us mostly tried to wrangle the mob of children he had sired.

I was flustered and angry, the old feelings creeping back over me, which was when I made a serious lapse in judgement. My mom announced that certain children had consumed all the vanilla ice cream that was meant for the pie, and gave me a somewhat pleading look, asking if I could go grab another couple containers at the local 7-11. I agreed, just wanting to get out of the house and catch my breath. I was only gone for twenty minutes, round trip, and when I came back, some more familiar feelings came over me. I dropped the ice cream off with my mom, and asked immediately where Lauralie had gone off to (perhaps a bit more desperately than I meant to). She just smiled and shrugged her shoulders, halfheartedly gesturing to the swarm of children who were clamoring for more vanilla ice cream, as if that answered anything. Maybe it did.

I found her in my "parents" bedroom. I had barely opened the door, peeking in and finding her clothes in a heap on the floor. As I snuck in further, I finally saw her supple white body folded in half, legs splayed out to either side, with Tyrell thrusting into her. That old familiar wet slapping sound, and the sounds of her intense pleasure filling my ears. I stood there, half in the doorway, watching all of it unfold. Maybe I imagined it, maybe I didn't, but for a second, I could have sworn Lauralie and I locked eyes as her face turned toward me. I tell myself she couldn't have seen me, otherwise she would have stopped, or said something, but she didn't. Instead, she threw her head back and came hard on his black dick moments before he came inside her. I'm not invisible, but I felt that way in that moment. I slipped back out the door, and went and plonked myself down on the couch. Neither of them came out of there for at least another half and hour, but when they did, she was wiping the corners of her mouth. My mom and sister made no mention of it, and I didn't bother to say anything either. We all knew what life was now, and we just moved on.

For the record, Lauralie didn't leave me for Tyrell. She didn't leave me at all, but there are small moments when I wish maybe she had. Instead, nine months later, she had a black baby, which I had no doubt was his. On the same subject, I had looked into it years ago, and knew that Kristen had a black child of her own, roughly the age of my brothers and nephews/nieces. I guess Tyrell has incredibly potent sperm or something. But the truth of it is, after catching the two of them together, I found myself masturbating a lot more (particularly since Lauralie had seemingly lost interest in sex with me). But it was always the same fantasies. Girls I knew, being fucked by random black guys, like, or even sometimes by, Tyrell. I would picture Lauralie in there, fucking and sucking him, the sounds of her cumming again and again. Or imagine Kristen, her white teenage legs spread as he pounded himself inside her, impregnating her. It just seemed that was what my life was, and I was steering into the skid.

Not long after the first, Lauralie had gotten pregnant again, and even before it was born I knew there was no way it could have been mine, as we hadn't had sex in almost two years at that point. It was black, again, of course. I had been paying for and raising her first child, and now here came a second one. We had to have a serious talk, but it wasn't the one I would've always thought I would have had. Instead, I only asked to be able to watch, or at the very least, "catch her" cheating. She said she would consider it, but it depended on what her lover thought about it. I was somehow weirdly disappointed she said "lover" and not Tyrell. The idea that it was him who impregnated her again turned me on in a strange sort of way, which filled me with shame, self loathing, and arousal. My brain is obviously twisted, but then again, the world is broken too, so what can I say?

Even though I've only been allowed to watch a couple times, I love masturbating thinking about my wife fucking these strange black men. I love cumming into a tissue, or into the toilet or shower, knowing that my seed is wasted, like so much garbage, while they regularly drop their loads inside her body, or on her skin. I know they call me a cuckold, or a loser, or a wimp, and it feels wrong, dirty, but hell... it feels like home.

