DISCLAIMER: [This experience was sent to me within my private group with authorization to share, all actual names have been changed to respect privacy, enjoy.]

Hello ********, here is my dirty little secret, the one that's been simmering inside of me, growing up in Tokyo.

It all started with a forbidden fruit, a glimpse of something I wasn't supposed to see. American movies, on VHS tapes (yes it was a while back!), showed me a world of white gods with muscles rippling under their skin, their eyes burning with a hunger that made my insides clench.

I could not stop imagining their, Big White Cocks, they haunted my dreams. Growing up in Japan, everything was so...contained. Polite smiles, bowing, unspoken rules. Sex was a hushed whisper, something you did with your husband in the dark. But those BWCs, they were a roar, a primal scream that shattered the silence.

I married a good man, a kind man. He loved me, worshipped me even. But he was Japanese, through and through (that includes down there). He was Gentle, reserved, everything those white men weren't. And that only fueled the fire inside me. Then came the move to America. The land of opportunity, they called it. For me, it was the land of temptation. Everywhere I looked, there they were: BWCs strutting down the street, flexing their muscles in the gym, their voices booming with confidence.

My fantasies became more vivid, more urgent. I'd imagine those cocks filling me up, stretching me open, making me scream his name. I'd picture myself, spread wide, begging for more, my Japanese husband watching, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and arousal. The guilt gnawed at me, but the desire was a tidal wave, crashing over me, drowning me in its intensity. I felt bad, I kept thinking of it,

I tried to fight it. Why was I so obsessed.

I had to have it.

I had to feel that power, that raw, animalistic pleasure. Just one time, then I would stop (so I thought).

I was a faithful wife, It took time, a lot of careful maneuvering, but I finally told my husband about my dirty fantasy. He was outraged, he would never share me, he said that he was a man and that he would never agree to let me try an other man, especially a BWC. That refusal truly upset me, I felt imprisoned, I felt like I would never experiment it but I also felt bad for asking this. Things got a little dark for a while, he could see that I wasn't happy and I didn’t know what to think, I had this deviant deep obsession to taste a white cock and I felt ashamed.

One night out as we were eating at a restaurant, this French sever was pouring wine into my glass and I could see the shape of his massive cock molded by his pants, my eyes got fixated, my pussy dripping like never before. My husband saw my reaction and after a pause, he asked “If I let you try it, only once, would you be satisfied?”, I didn’t know what to say… I didn’t expect him to ever say that, I fainted to not care and told him that it was OK. He loved me, he wanted me to be happy.

That night we went home had some basic sex and fell asleep. Then I had the most vivid dream, A beautiful delicious BWC, I craved that raw, primal power, that feeling of being completely consumed. I wanted to feel the heat of a BWC filling me, stretching me, claiming me…

And then I met him, my first. We will call him Marc. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything I'd ever dreamed of and more. We met at a bar, a dimly lit place with a live band playing bluesy music. I was there with some colleagues from work, trying to blend in, trying to act like I wasn't completely mesmerized by every white guy who walked through the door.

Then I saw him. He was leaning against the bar, talking to a group of friends, his laughter booming over the music. He had this aura about him, this magnetic pull that drew me in. He caught my eye, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. His eyes, a piercing blue, held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. I felt a blush creep up my neck, a heat spreading through my body. He excused himself from his friends and walked towards me, a slow, confident stride that sent shivers down my spine. "Hi," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You're beautiful."

My heart was pounding in my chest. I stammered a greeting, my voice barely above a whisper. We talked for hours that night. He was funny, intelligent, and surprisingly sensitive. He listened intently as I talked about my life in Japan, my move to America, my dreams and aspirations. He didn't judge me, didn't make me feel like an outsider.

He was intrigued by my exotic beauty, by my quiet intensity. He seemed to see through my facade, to understand the desires that simmered beneath the surface. As the night wore on, the air between us crackled with unspoken desire. He leaned in close, his breath warm on my skin. "I'd love to see you again," he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. I nodded, unable to speak. I wanted him, craved him with every fiber of my being. That night, I went home to my husband, pretending everything was normal.

I kissed him goodnight, feeling the guilt gnawing at my conscience. But the memory of Marc's touch, his voice, his eyes, lingered in my mind, fueling the fire within me. Over the next few weeks, Marc and I saw each other constantly. We went on dates, explored the city together, shared intimate moments that made my heart soar. He was everything I'd ever dreamed of and more. He was patient, understanding, and incredibly passionate. He knew about my fantasies, my desires, and he embraced them fully. He loved the way I looked at him, the way I responded to his touch.

The first time we slept together was electric. We were at his apartment, a cozy loft with exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights. He took his time, savoring every touch, every gasp, every moan. He worshipped my body, exploring every curve, every inch of my skin. His BWC was massive, a thing of beauty and power. It filled me completely, stretching me, claiming me. I screamed his name, lost in a sea of pleasure. I. HAD. NEVER. FELT. THAT. WAY. BEFORE.

It was everything I'd ever dreamed of and more. The guilt gnawed at me, but it was overshadowed by the sheer ecstasy of the experience. I was his, completely and utterly.

My husband eventually found out a few weeks later. He was devastated, heartbroken. He confronted me, his voice trembling with pain. I confessed everything. I told him about Marc, about the nights we spent together. I didn't hold anything back. He was silent for a long time, his face etched with pain. "Why?" he finally whispered. "Why would you do this to me?"

I didn't have an answer. I couldn't explain the pull I felt towards Marc, the insatiable desire that consumed me. He didn't leave. He stayed. He said he loved me, that he wanted to understand. I think he's a little broken, a little lost, but he still loved me.

I felt guilty, I really did. But I can't deny who I am, what I want. I'm a Japanese wife with a BWC fetish.

He ultimately agreed to be let me have fun with Marc as long as I did talk about it to him.

My Husband saw me happy again. It worked for us, And I took more. I took it from every BWC I could find like a true BWC Addict. Tall, muscular ones, with cocks that could bury themselves deep inside me. Lean, athletic ones, who moved with a grace that made me shiver, The intelligent types with their glasses, wittiness and thick long cocks. Each encounter was a victory, a triumph over my own repressed desires.

I've had countless encounters, each one more intense than the last. I've been filled, stretched, and worshipped by BWCs of all shapes and sizes. And my husband? He was still by my side, his love for me unwavering. He knew that this is who I am, what I need and he accepted it, embraced it even.

But my BWC obsession wasn't just a fling, it was a goddamn wildfire. And then I met HIM. He wasn't just any BWC, no sir. This was a goddamn redwood, a titan among men. Muscles rippling like a goddamn Greek statue, eyes that could melt glaciers, and a cock that could make a nun scream hallelujah.

Let's just call him "The Bull." The first time I saw him, I felt a jolt, a primal recognition. This wasn't just lust, this was destiny. He took me apart, piece by piece, and put me back together again, a shattered doll reborn in his image.

Every encounter was a religious experience. He'd pound me into the mattress, his cock stretching me to my absolute limit, my screams echoing through the apartment. He'd growl in my ear, calling me his little geisha, his submissive slut. And I loved it.

Every.

Single.

Word.

My husband, bless his heart, he was struggling. Seeing me with The Bull, it was tearing him apart. But slowly, oh so slowly, something shifted. He started to see what I saw: a man who exuded power, confidence, raw masculinity. A man who could make a woman scream his name until she was hoarse.

One night, after a particularly brutal session with The Bull, I found my husband watching us. His eyes were wide, his face pale, but there was something else there too. A flicker of...admiration? He asked to join us.

At first, I was hesitant. This was MY thing, MY escape. But seeing the yearning in his eyes, the way he looked at The Bull with a mixture of fear and fascination, I knew I couldn't deny him. The Bull was a generous lover. He invited my husband, showing him the ropes, teaching him how to worship a woman. And my husband learned fast. He slowly learned to beg and plead, but was still hesistant.

The first time they both fucked me, it was a revelation. The Bull, he was the storm, raw and powerful, while my husband was the gentle rain, soothing and tender. Together, they were a symphony of pleasure, a concerto of ecstasy. And me? I was the conductor, orchestrating their every move, guiding them to the peak of pleasure.

It became a regular thing.

The Bull would come over, and we'd have our little threesome. My husband, he'd start out hesitant, but by the end, he'd be begging for more, his cock throbbing, his eyes glazed over with lust. He started to change. He grew more confident, more assertive. He started working out, trying to emulate The Bull's physique. He even started dressing like him, wearing tight jeans and muscle shirts, his hair slicked back. He was becoming The Bull's disciple, worshiping at the altar of masculinity.

And I was the high priestess, the orchestrator of their desires.

The Bull took full control. He dictated our lives, our schedules, our very thoughts. He was the alpha, the leader of our pack. And we, his willing subjects, followed his every command. He'd make my husband watch as he fucked me, his cock buried deep inside me, my moans echoing through the room. My husband would cum, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his eyes fixed on The Bull's powerful form. And I'd watch them both, my heart pounding, my pussy throbbing, knowing that I was the cause of their ecstasy. It was a twisted, beautiful thing. A love triangle built on power, submission, and unbridled lust. The Bull owned us. Body and soul.

And we loved every minute of it.

The Bull wasn't just a lover, he was a goddamn force of nature. He reshaped our lives, molded us to his will. My husband became his shadow, his devoted disciple. He'd spend hours watching The Bull work out, mimicking his every move, trying to capture even a fraction of his raw power.

I loved it all, I was The Bull's prized possession, his little geisha, his submissive slut. He'd dress me in lingerie, tiny scraps of silk that barely covered my curves, and parade me around like a trophy.

He'd make me kneel before him, my head bowed, as he devoured me with his eyes, his cock throbbing against his jeans. Our sex life became a spectacle. The Bull loved an audience. He'd make my husband watch as he fucked me, his cock buried deep inside me, my screams echoing through the apartment.

He'd force my husband to touch himself, to beg for scraps of attention, to witness the raw power he wielded over both of us. One night, The Bull decided to up the ante. He brought home a friend, another BWC, even bigger, even more imposing. This one was a mountain of muscle, his cock a thick, throbbing beast. The Bull grinned, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Tonight, my little geisha," he growled, "you're going to learn what it means to be truly owned."

He tied me to the bed, my wrists bound tight, my legs spread wide. The other BWC, he circled me like a predator, his eyes hungry, his cock twitching with anticipation. The Bull took his time, savoring my fear, my helplessness. He made me watch as the other BWC fucked me, his cock stretching me to my absolute limit, my screams muffled by the gag he'd shoved in my mouth. My husband, watched from the corner, his face pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and arousal. He was trapped, caught in the web The Bull had spun, unable to escape the spectacle unfolding before him.

The Bull joined in his grunts echoing through the room. It was a brutal, savage fuck, a display of dominance and control. They took turns, fucking me until I was a quivering mess, my body bruised and sore, my mind shattered. And through it all, my husband watched. He watched as I was broken, as I was claimed, as I was made into The Bull's plaything. But something strange happened. As the night wore on, a change came over him.

The fear in his eyes was replaced by a strange kind of awe. He started to see The Bull not as a brute, but as a god. A god who could command, who could control, who could make a woman scream his name until she was hoarse. He started to crave The Bull's attention, to beg for more scraps of his affection.

My husband would try to still act like a “mini-bull” but sometime in the heat of a session, his true nature would show, he'd kneel before our BWC Bull, his head bowed, his little Asian cock throbbing. The Bull, saw the change in him, the shift in power. He relished it.

He took my husband under his wing, teaching him the ways of the alpha, showing him how to dominate, how to control. Our lives became a twisted parody of a family. The Bull, the patriarch, ruling over us with an iron fist. My husband, his loyal lieutenant, eager to please, to obey and trying to emulate.

And me, the submissive wife, the object of their desires, the vessel for their lust. The Bull, loved to humiliate me. He'd make me wear diapers, force me to crawl on all fours, bark like a dog. He'd make my husband watch, his cock throbbing, his eyes filled with a strange mix of disgust and arousal.

He'd make us have sex in public, in parks, in alleyways, in broad daylight. He'd force me to suck his cock in front of strangers, to beg for his attention, to show the world that I was his property. And my husband, would stand there, watching, his face a mask of shame and excitement. He'd cheer me on, encourage me to please The Bull, to show him how much I loved him. It was a sick, twisted game, but we were all players. The Bull, he owned us. Fully. And we loved every minute of it.

My husband, bless his heart, he'd blush, stammer, try to refuse and act somewhat “alpha” while still under the command of the Bull. But The Bull was patient. He knew how to break a man down, how to chip away at his defenses until he was exposed, vulnerable. One night, after a particularly brutal session where The Bull had forced my husband to wear a frilly pink dress and serve him dinner on his knees, that night something truly shifted.

My husband paused, obviously conflicted, his eyes wide and face pale. He didn't look disgusted. He looked...curious. The Bull saw it too. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down my spine. "Good boy," he purred.

From that night on, things changed, SO FAST!

It was like my husband was finally liberated, he started to embrace his new role with passion. He completely stop pretending to be a “mini-bull”. He'd happily spend hours in front of the mirror, practicing his "sissy voice," trying on different outfits, experimenting with makeup and asking me for advice.

The Bull encouraged him, bought him lingerie, taught him how to walk in heels. My husband try to resist at first, but the more The Bull pushed, the more he craved it.

Not so long after, he'd make my husband clean his cock, his tongue swirling around the head, his eyes filled with a strange mix of shame and pleasure. He'd dress up as soon as he heard The Bull's car pull into the driveway. He'd be waiting, kneeling at the doorstep, his lips painted red, his eyes wide and pleading. Sometimes The Bull would take him roughly, his Big White Cock hard and demanding.

He'd make him kneel, his head bowed, his body trembling as I watched. I'd watch as my husband, my sweet, gentle husband, was transformed into The Bull's plaything. I'd watch as he was broken, molded, remade. And I loved it. Because seeing him like that, so submissive, so utterly devoted to The Bull, it was a turn-on like no other. It was a reminder that I wasn't the only one who craved his power, his dominance. The Bull owned us both. And we loved every minute of it. The transformation wasn't just physical.

The Bull chipped away at my husband's masculinity, replacing it with a fragile and beautiful femininity. He'd make him call himself "sissy," a word that once held a sting, now a badge of honor. He'd make him wear a collar, a symbol of his submission to the superior man. He'd make him crawl on all fours, his ass in the air, begging for a taste of The Bull's attention, for a taste of The Bull's dominance.

My Sissy husband would clean his cock with passion, saliva dripping all over, his eyes filled with a strange mix of shame and pleasure. The Bull, would make my husband wear slutty lingerie, lace and silk clinging to his newly feminized body.

This made me even more addicted, everything was fitting so perfectly, the Bull, had awakened something truly primal in me, a hunger for his seed, a burning need to carry his child.

I wanted to bear his offspring, to carry a piece of him inside me, a living testament to his dominance.

The desire gnawed at me, a primal urge, a yearning that went beyond lust. I wanted more than just The Bull's touch, I wanted a piece of him, a part of him to carry within me.

I wanted to bear his child, a child that would inherit his strength, his dominance, his very essence. I confided in The Bull, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and longing. He listened, his eyes boring into mine, his gaze stripping me bare. He didn't speak for a long moment, the silence stretching, thick with unspoken desires. "You want to carry my seed," he finally said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "You want to bear a child that is mine."

I nodded, unable to speak, my throat tight with emotion. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a thrill through me. "You understand what that means, little geisha. It means you'll be mine, completely and utterly. It means your husband will be mine, too. He will serve us both, a willing slave to our desires." My husband, bless his heart, he was already kneeling before The Bull, his head bowed, his eyes filled with adoration.

He'd been transformed, molded by The Bull's will. He was no longer the man I married, the man who held my hand and whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

He was a sissy, a submissive plaything, eager to please, to obey. "Please, Master," he whimpered, his voice trembling. "Let me serve you. Let me help you make a child with my wife. I'll do anything." The Bull chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the room. "Anything?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Anything," my husband repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

The Bull stood, towering over us, his presence filling the room. He reached down, his hand gripping my husband's chin, forcing him to look up. "You understand what you're asking," The Bull said, his voice low and dangerous. “You'll be a breeding tool, nothing more.”

You'll serve me and your wife, fulfilling our every desire. You'll be our sissy, our little pet." My husband nodded, his eyes wide. He was lost in The Bull's gaze, his mind consumed by the promise of servitude. "Good sissy boy," The Bull purred, releasing my husband's chin. "Now, get on your knees and prepare yourself. You'll be the first to taste my seed, a gift to prepare your wife for what's to come." My husband obeyed without hesitation, dropping to his knees, his hands clasped together, his eyes fixed on The Bull with a devotion that bordered on worship.

The Bull ripped my lace dress and stripped me bare, his hands rough, his touch was very possessive. He didn't bother with foreplay, he didn't need it. He was such a force of nature, a primal force that demanded and had to be worshiped. He took me roughly, his cock slamming into me deep, filling me completely. I cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, my body arching against his, my husband watching and drooling, his eyes filled with a mix of envy and arousal. The Bull pounded into me, his grunts echoing through the room. He was taking what he wanted, claiming me, marking me as his own.

My husband watched, his eyes wide, his lips parted in a silent plea. He wanted to feel The Bull's power, to be a part of the creation of our child. The Bull sensed his desire, his need. He pulled out, his cock dripping with my juices.

He turned to my husband, his eyes cold and calculating. "You want to be a part of this?" he asked, his voice a low growl. My husband nodded with pleading eyes. The Bull smiled, a cruel, predatory smile.

He grabbed my husband's hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat. "Then taste your wife," he growled. "You'll be the one to prepare your wife for what's to come." He forced my husband's mouth open, his cock filling his mouth, stretching his lips, forcing him to swallow.

My husband gagged, his eyes watering, but he didn't resist.

He swallowed, his body trembling, his mind consumed by the Bull's dominance. The Bull watched, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He thrust his cock deeper into my husband's mouth, relishing the way he gagged and choked, his eyes watering, his body trembling. "Good boy," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "You're learning your natural place. You're learning to serve."

He pulled his cock out of my husband's mouth, the sound of the wet, sucking noise echoing in the silence. He turned back to me, his eyes burning with a primal hunger. "Now, my little geisha," he growled, "ill fill you some more." He grabbed my legs, pulling them apart, spreading me wide and filled me like he had never done before.

His cock pounding me hard, as my husband was watching and drooling. Suddenly he turned to my husband and said "You'll be the one to ensure my seed takes root inside her." he commanded, his voice a low growl. "You'll taste my seed, you'll feel my power flow through you."

My husband obeyed without hesitation. His tongue darting out, lapping at The Bull's cock, his eyes in a state of trans, filled with arousal. The Bull chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down my spine. He let out a groan, his cock throbbing, his eyes fixed on me. "You'll be a good girl," he growled. "You'll serve us both, you'll help us create a child worthy of our power." He thrust his cock back, deep inside me, his eyes locked on mine. "Soon you'll carry my child," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. "You'll bear my heir, my legacy." my body was trembling uncontrolibaly. "Yes, Master," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll bear your child. I'll proudly carry your seed within me!"

The Bull smiled with a predatory grin that sent a shiver down my spine. He thrust deeper, his cock filling me completely. "Such a good girl," he growled. "You understand your place. You understand your purpose." As I was screaming like never before.

My husband was mesmerized, he watched eagerly, his eyes wide. He silent facial expression begging to be a part of this, to feel The Bull's power, to be a part of the creation of our child. The Bull, sensed his desire, his need, and said with a low calm voice, “don’t worry sissy boy, you will be part of this again”. As The Bull was thrusting his BWC in my tight little Japaneses pussy, he grabbed my husbands head and roughly forced it against his ass and said “I want to feel you tongues deep in my ass, clean it all while I will empty my balls in your wife”. I had never seen my husband so eager, he rushed and licked The Bull’s ass with passion and determination. After an intense moment The Bull looked at me and said “Are you ready my geisha?” I screamed “YES!” with every fiber of my body. The Bull dumped all of his superior strong thick cum into me. He then laid back on the bed, placed my head against his strong chest and told my Husband “You cleaned my ass well, now do the same with my cock, then you will clean your wife’s pussy, clean it as much as you can and don’t worry, she will get pregnant anyways.” My Husband did so even more eagerly he first spent a long time licking The Bull’s cock and balls making sure that all was perfectly clean, it felt like he had no more filters or arbitrary rules, he was himself and he loved it, he then licked my pussy clean as much as he could, nothing was left. The moment was intense and so profound for all of us, like a dream come true...

This was the best day of my life. I am know 6 month pregnant and very excited to get more seed from my Bull as soon as I can.

Yours \***********.*