Timmy, Bree, and Jamal: The Beginning
by passion_pilot_2026Abstract: The 1st of 12 chapters. Timmy and Bree are a wealthy, white couple. One night, Timmy’s tells Bree his fantasy for her to have sex with other men – preferably black men. \\\ Bree stretched
about 2 months ago
•long read•hot intensityAbstract: The 1st of 12 chapters. Timmy and Bree are a wealthy, white couple. One night, Timmy’s tells Bree his fantasy for her to have sex with other men – preferably black men.
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Bree stretched out on their Alaskan King bed in their sun-drenched bedroom, with its vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. She was a vision of effortless athleticism, at 5’ 11”, with blonde hair and blue eyes, her long legs—toned from years of spiking volleyballs—tangled in the crisp white sheets, her sun-kissed skin glowing from the remnants of a summer day.
Timmy, her husband of two years, hovered at the edge of the mattress, his compact frame a stark contrast to her statuesque height. At five-foot-two, Timmy earned his nickname "Little Timmy" from his college buddies, but Bree had always found his boyish charm disarming, a pocket-sized prince from a wealthy family. They'd met three years ago at that beach volleyball tournament his family sponsored—Timmy's clan were old money, the sort who threw events to network without breaking a sweat. Bree, in her bare feet, had dominated the court.
Timmy watched from the sidelines, mesmerized, and when he approached her afterward with a shy grin and a bottle of chilled rosé, she couldn't resist. He was handsome in that clean-cut, boy-next-door way, with sharp green eyes and a wallet that whispered security. Nine inches taller, she teased him gently about it, but his kindness sealed the deal. They dated fast, married faster, and settled into a life of lazy weekends and whispered affections.
Tonight, they'd just finished one of their intimate rituals, the kind that made their unconventional marriage work like a well-oiled machine. Timmy's "Tinnie Wennie," as he affectionately called his two inch penis at full erection, had never been the star of their shows. Intercourse? A non-starter—his slight build and modest anatomy simply didn't align with Bree's needs. But what Timmy lacked downstairs, he more than compensated for with his mouth. He was a goddamn virtuoso, his tongue a precision instrument that knew every ridge and fold of her pussy like a cartographer mapping unclaimed territory.
Bree sighed contentedly, her fingers idly tracing the curve of her breast as she replayed the evening's highlights. Timmy had started slow, as always, kneeling between her thighs on the bed. His small hands gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge, and he'd buried his face in her warmth without a word. His licks were deliberate, swirling around her clit with feather-light flicks that built pressure like a storm gathering over the ocean. "Timmy, you’re a fucking god!" she'd gasped, her voice husky as she arched against him. He hummed in response, the vibration sending jolts through her core, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at her slick folds with relentless enthusiasm.
She'd reached for her nightstand drawer early on, pulling out her favorite vibrator—a sleek, purple number that pulsed in rhythm with his efforts. Timmy didn't mind; he encouraged it, his eyes lighting up as she pressed the buzzing tip against her entrance while he sucked her clit between his lips. The combination was explosive: his wet, eager mouth combined with the toy's insistent thrum, pushing her toward the edge. Bree's screamed, “I’m fucking comming!” , her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
When she came, it was mind-blowing—a full-body quake that left her pussy clenching, juices coating Timmy's chin as she squirted lightly onto his tongue. He lapped it up greedily, never missing a beat. For his part, Timmy had waited patiently, his Tinnie Wennie twitching against his thigh, hard as it could get but comically small, like a pinky finger straining for attention. Bree, still riding her high, had beckoned him up with a lazy smile. She wrapped her thumb and index finger around his shaft—barely needing more—and stroked him with gentle, teasing pumps. It didn't take long; Timmy's breaths came in short bursts, his hips bucking as she cooed encouragements. "Come for me, baby," she murmured, and he did, spilling his modest load onto her palm with a shuddering groan.
They collapsed together afterward, sweaty and sated, the room thick with the musky scent of their shared release. Now, as the afterglow faded, Timmy propped himself on an elbow, his gaze fixed on Bree's flushed face. She looked radiant, her blue eyes half-lidded, full lips parted in satisfaction.
He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Bree, there's something I've been wanting to tell you. A fantasy, I guess." She turned her head, propping up on one arm, her bare breasts shifting with the movement. "Oh? What would that be baby? You know I love your secrets." He swallowed, his cheeks tinting pink. "It's... about you and other men. I want you to date them. Sleep with them. Specifically, black men—guys who are... well, hung. The kind who can give you what I can't in that department."
Bree's eyes widened, shock rippling through her like a cold wave. She sat up fully, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing the curve of her hips. "Timmy, what?! Are you fucking serious?" Her mind raced. She'd had fleeting thoughts, sure—daydreams of tall, broad-shouldered men with commanding presences, their bodies built like sculptures, cocks thick and unyielding. But cheating? On Timmy? The man who'd swept her off her feet with genuine care, who built her up when insecurities crept in about her height or her competitive edge? "I... I couldn't do that. It'd break us."
Timmy reached for her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I'm not saying it would. Think about it, Bree. I love making you come, but I see how you crave more sometimes. The toys help, but imagine a real dick—big, hard, filling you up. It turns me on to picture it. We'd talk about it after, keep it honest. Please, just consider it." She searched his face, seeing no jealousy, only excitement flickering in his eyes. It was bizarre, this cuckold dream spilling from her sweet, short husband. But as she lay back down, his words lingered, stirring a forbidden curiosity in her belly.
Over the next few days, Bree couldn't shake it. Their routine continued—morning coffees on the patio with an ocean view, Timmy's family events where he charmed everyone with his easy laugh—but at night, her thoughts wandered. She masturbated alone one afternoon in the guest bathroom, the door locked, her mind conjuring faceless lovers with dark skin and powerful thrusts. Guilt twisted with arousal, making her clit throb harder under her fingers.
A week later, Bree broached it during dinner, their plates of grilled salmon pushed aside. The dining room overlooked their infinity pool, the water shimmering under string lights like liquid stars. "Timmy, I've been thinking about your fantasy. It's crazy, but... I'm willing to try it." His face lit up, fork clattering to the table. "Really? Bree, you'd do that for me honey—for us?" She nodded, heart pounding. "Yes and I know a guy who I believe would want to date me. But rules: I tell you everything. And you have to be okay with it every step."
\\\
Bree stretched out on their Alaskan King bed in their sun-drenched bedroom, with its vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. She was a vision of effortless athleticism, at 5’ 11”, with blonde hair and blue eyes, her long legs—toned from years of spiking volleyballs—tangled in the crisp white sheets, her sun-kissed skin glowing from the remnants of a summer day.
Timmy, her husband of two years, hovered at the edge of the mattress, his compact frame a stark contrast to her statuesque height. At five-foot-two, Timmy earned his nickname "Little Timmy" from his college buddies, but Bree had always found his boyish charm disarming, a pocket-sized prince from a wealthy family. They'd met three years ago at that beach volleyball tournament his family sponsored—Timmy's clan were old money, the sort who threw events to network without breaking a sweat. Bree, in her bare feet, had dominated the court.
Timmy watched from the sidelines, mesmerized, and when he approached her afterward with a shy grin and a bottle of chilled rosé, she couldn't resist. He was handsome in that clean-cut, boy-next-door way, with sharp green eyes and a wallet that whispered security. Nine inches taller, she teased him gently about it, but his kindness sealed the deal. They dated fast, married faster, and settled into a life of lazy weekends and whispered affections.
Tonight, they'd just finished one of their intimate rituals, the kind that made their unconventional marriage work like a well-oiled machine. Timmy's "Tinnie Wennie," as he affectionately called his two inch penis at full erection, had never been the star of their shows. Intercourse? A non-starter—his slight build and modest anatomy simply didn't align with Bree's needs. But what Timmy lacked downstairs, he more than compensated for with his mouth. He was a goddamn virtuoso, his tongue a precision instrument that knew every ridge and fold of her pussy like a cartographer mapping unclaimed territory.
Bree sighed contentedly, her fingers idly tracing the curve of her breast as she replayed the evening's highlights. Timmy had started slow, as always, kneeling between her thighs on the bed. His small hands gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge, and he'd buried his face in her warmth without a word. His licks were deliberate, swirling around her clit with feather-light flicks that built pressure like a storm gathering over the ocean. "Timmy, you’re a fucking god!" she'd gasped, her voice husky as she arched against him. He hummed in response, the vibration sending jolts through her core, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at her slick folds with relentless enthusiasm.
She'd reached for her nightstand drawer early on, pulling out her favorite vibrator—a sleek, purple number that pulsed in rhythm with his efforts. Timmy didn't mind; he encouraged it, his eyes lighting up as she pressed the buzzing tip against her entrance while he sucked her clit between his lips. The combination was explosive: his wet, eager mouth combined with the toy's insistent thrum, pushing her toward the edge. Bree's screamed, “I’m fucking comming!” , her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
When she came, it was mind-blowing—a full-body quake that left her pussy clenching, juices coating Timmy's chin as she squirted lightly onto his tongue. He lapped it up greedily, never missing a beat. For his part, Timmy had waited patiently, his Tinnie Wennie twitching against his thigh, hard as it could get but comically small, like a pinky finger straining for attention. Bree, still riding her high, had beckoned him up with a lazy smile. She wrapped her thumb and index finger around his shaft—barely needing more—and stroked him with gentle, teasing pumps. It didn't take long; Timmy's breaths came in short bursts, his hips bucking as she cooed encouragements. "Come for me, baby," she murmured, and he did, spilling his modest load onto her palm with a shuddering groan.
They collapsed together afterward, sweaty and sated, the room thick with the musky scent of their shared release. Now, as the afterglow faded, Timmy propped himself on an elbow, his gaze fixed on Bree's flushed face. She looked radiant, her blue eyes half-lidded, full lips parted in satisfaction.
He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Bree, there's something I've been wanting to tell you. A fantasy, I guess." She turned her head, propping up on one arm, her bare breasts shifting with the movement. "Oh? What would that be baby? You know I love your secrets." He swallowed, his cheeks tinting pink. "It's... about you and other men. I want you to date them. Sleep with them. Specifically, black men—guys who are... well, hung. The kind who can give you what I can't in that department."
Bree's eyes widened, shock rippling through her like a cold wave. She sat up fully, the sheet pooling around her waist, exposing the curve of her hips. "Timmy, what?! Are you fucking serious?" Her mind raced. She'd had fleeting thoughts, sure—daydreams of tall, broad-shouldered men with commanding presences, their bodies built like sculptures, cocks thick and unyielding. But cheating? On Timmy? The man who'd swept her off her feet with genuine care, who built her up when insecurities crept in about her height or her competitive edge? "I... I couldn't do that. It'd break us."
Timmy reached for her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "I'm not saying it would. Think about it, Bree. I love making you come, but I see how you crave more sometimes. The toys help, but imagine a real dick—big, hard, filling you up. It turns me on to picture it. We'd talk about it after, keep it honest. Please, just consider it." She searched his face, seeing no jealousy, only excitement flickering in his eyes. It was bizarre, this cuckold dream spilling from her sweet, short husband. But as she lay back down, his words lingered, stirring a forbidden curiosity in her belly.
Over the next few days, Bree couldn't shake it. Their routine continued—morning coffees on the patio with an ocean view, Timmy's family events where he charmed everyone with his easy laugh—but at night, her thoughts wandered. She masturbated alone one afternoon in the guest bathroom, the door locked, her mind conjuring faceless lovers with dark skin and powerful thrusts. Guilt twisted with arousal, making her clit throb harder under her fingers.
A week later, Bree broached it during dinner, their plates of grilled salmon pushed aside. The dining room overlooked their infinity pool, the water shimmering under string lights like liquid stars. "Timmy, I've been thinking about your fantasy. It's crazy, but... I'm willing to try it." His face lit up, fork clattering to the table. "Really? Bree, you'd do that for me honey—for us?" She nodded, heart pounding. "Yes and I know a guy who I believe would want to date me. But rules: I tell you everything. And you have to be okay with it every step."