AfroerotiK

Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Out of Town Meeting



Dinner was seamless, the food, the music, the wine, the company. Tony’s out of town business meetings were usually painful, in that he hated living out of a suitcase and eating alone in overpriced restaurants. This trip, he was enjoying every second of it. He’d met up with Chantal, a woman he’d met online a few months back. They’d hit it off and started talking on the phone. It was a casual thing; neither of them stopped seeing the people in their lives and neither of them had a desire to take the relationship to a different level. They both enjoyed the same kinks, they had some late night conversations that ended up in some hot phone sex occasionally, and had a lot of things in common.

When Tony got news that he was going to have to go to sales conference in Dallas, he sent Chantal an IM letting her know to make reservations at the best restaurant in town and prepare to paint the town red. When he walked into the restaurant, he was blown away; she was even more beautiful in person than in her pictures. Her cinnamon colored skin was flawless; she was wearing a sexy black business suit that fit her like a glove. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a blouse underneath her jacket, and the hint of her cleavage drew men’s attention there like a beacon in the night, made her that much more alluring. She kissed him on the cheek and the smell of her perfume and the feel of her soft warm hand against his cheek made his dick stir. Even the maitre’d had to take a second look at Chantal’s sexy brown calves and full backside; he winked at Tony as if to say, “You are a lucky son of a bitch.”

The couple laughed and flirted with one another throughout the meal. As they became more comfortable with one another, Chantal got more adventurous. She moved closer and slid her pump off and began rubbing her foot along Tony’s leg. The more they laughed and got along fantastically, the more Chantal would find an occasion to rest her hand on Tony’s thigh, inching closer and closer to his crotch with each witty anecdote. Tony ordered a cigar and a brandy and leaned back into the plush leather banquette and played the playboy role to the hilt. Chantal giggled and played along. Tony belonged to the new wave of Black businessmen who made their fortune in one generation and were not shy in letting people see their success. Feeling bold, he unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out; the white linen table cloth obscured it from view from the other diners.

Chantal took advantage of situation and moved closer still. She grabbed the shaft of his penis and stroked it softly. Tony thought he could sit there and enjoy the hand job without letting on what was happening but within a few seconds, he was squirming around and fidgeting, afraid that he was going to shoot his load right then and there. Chantal was expertly stroking him, squeezing the head, sliding the skin up and down, trying to coax out a load. “Damn baby, slow down or I won’t have any steam for the after party,” he said, reluctantly pushing her hand away and putting everything back where it belonged.

During dessert, it was his turn to return the favor. Chantal was snuggled close, and they were like a couple who had been together for a very long time. Feeling brazen, the lovely lady opened her legs and allowed her new friend to explore. Tony’s strong hands traveled up her legs, caressing the smooth silk of her stockings, and encountering the even smoother skin of her flesh above her thigh high stockings. He caressed her flesh and his hands roamed higher until his fingertips brushed the expensive lace of her panties. Chantal spread her legs more and allowed him full access. He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “You know I’m going to fuck that hot pussy of yours tonight until you can’t walk straight tomorrow, right?”

Chantal laughed, “Yeah, right big boy, promises, promises. Other men have tried and failed.” But the evidence of her arousal was to be felt in her panties. Tony fondled her and slid her panties to the side in order to get better access to her package. It was quite an impressive package at that. At least seven inches with a full set of balls, and the fact that it was getting harder with every passing second confirmed that Chantal was indeed the sexiest, fully functioning shemale he’d ever met.

“Check please,” as Tony signaled for the waiter to bring the bill as quickly as possible. In the elevator to his hotel room, Chantal was transformed from a sexy and sophisticated woman to a ravenous, insatiable vixen. Undoing the three strategically placed buttons on her suit jacket, she exposed her full tits encased in a sexy black lace bra. She pulled down the tops of the overflowing cups and let her nipples be exposed to the security cameras. She flashed a sexy wink at the security guards who were probably sitting in the basement with a half eaten turkey sandwich and playing a game of Spades. She offered up her tits to Tony and he caressed the full mounds and pinched the swollen nipples. Chantal let out a sexy little purr and Tony pinched harder.

That was their kink. Tony liked to give pain, and Chantal liked to get it. They were both into rough play, spanking, pain, the whole nine. As much as Tony needed to release his frustrations being the powerful business mogul, Chantal liked to be the girly submissive to powerful men. She got off on pain and he had a lust for women who could take a little punishment and ask for more.

The elevator neared the 18th floor and Chantal made efforts to button up her jacket. “Leave it open,” was all Tony said as he leaned down to bite one of those sexy chocolate nipples. The doors opened and they were met, face to face, with one of the maids. Poor little thing, her mouth flew open and she averted her eyes to the floor. Chantal was warm with arousal and the couple walked past her without a care in the world. The maid was so flustered, so shocked, that she let the elevator doors close without getting on. Tony fumbled for his key, pretending he couldn’t find it, and pushed Chantal against the door and shoved his tongue down her throat. The maid couldn’t help but stare at the obscene play right in front of her and Tony played it up. He turned towards the maid and looked her right in the eye as he put his hand up Chantal’s skirt and groped her. What the maid couldn’t see was that Chantal had a boner under that skirt that was leaking precum.

The elevator doors opened again and the maid rushed in but not before Chantal winked at her, her tits still obscenely exposed for public view. Tony fished in his pocket and found the key, slid it in and opened the door. The door was barely closed behind them before they were all over each other. This time Chantal was reaching for Tony’s pants, unzipping them and sliding her hand in to find his stiffened prick. He pushed her to her knees and grabbed the back of her head and started unceremoniously fucking her mouth. Her lip gloss smeared his shaft and she took it deeper and deeper with every thrust. Tony’s dick grew longer, stiffer with each stroke and he gave her more encouragement. “Yeah, choke on it. Suck that big dick; take every inch.”

Chantal grabbed his ass and started pulling him deeper and deeper into her throat, urging him to fuck her face harder, faster. Tony wasn’t a little boy either, he had at least 8 inches of stiff meat in her throat and it was getting bigger the more he banged her face. There was no foreplay, there was no romance, just nasty, hardcore sex the way they both liked it. The pace was frantic; Tony was grunting and slamming his hips faster and faster, pistoning the head of his dick deeper and deeper in Chantal’s throat. She was gagging and choking, gasping for air, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth.

Placing his hand around her delicate, elegant neck, he started choking her, erotically of course. Chantal looked up and never took her eyes off of him. The lack of oxygen was dizzying and she pinched and pulled her own nipples for stimulation. She was gasping for air as Tony released the pressure and she dove for his dick again, not waiting more than a split second to feel him ramming her mouth again. He grabbed her by her throat again, this time he slapped her face with his dick. “Look at you,” he taunted, “getting my pants wet. You are a bad girl. I need to teach you a lesson.”

Chantal looked up, licked her lips, and said, “Oh Daddy, I’ve been such a bad girl, you should punish me.”

Tony pushed her away, still on her knees, and undid the belt on his pants. He let them slide to the floor and he turned around. He thrust his ass backwards, the full chocolate mounds filling out his tightie whities. He wiggled his ass in her face and she pulled the waistband down to expose his ass. “Are you going to show me what a naughty girl you are? Show Daddy how nasty you really are. Spread those cheeks and get in there, sniff it, smell my ass. Then kiss it. Kiss my ass and tell me how much you adore it.” He was really just talking to hear himself talk because Chantal was way past the sniffing and kissing stage; she was in the full out licking and sucking stage. She couldn’t wait and was driving her tongue deep in his ass, getting it wet and blowing air in it. Tony had his hands on his knees, bent over, enjoying the best rim job he’d ever gotten. “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good. Eat my ass; tell me how good it tastes. You like the way a real man tastes?”

She mumbled something that sounded like it could have been, “It’s the best ass I’ve ever eaten,” but it just as easily could have been, “I use Equal for my tea to sweeten,” because she never took her tongue from deep in his hole, sucking, rimming, licking, tongue fucking.

“Hot damn, you are one hot, nasty, little mama.” He stepped out of his pants, threw his jacket on a chair and sat on the bed. Chantal was still at the door, on her knees, looking like she was hungry for more. “Crawl to me.” She pulled of her jacket and tossed it in the same direction as his and crawled on her hands and knees towards him. He pulled off his tie and took off his shirt, throwing it on the floor. With his legs spread and his dick bobbing just inches from her face, Chantal was trying to lick it again, get it in her mouth.

“Take off the rest of your clothes; let me see that sexy body.” Doing anything she was told, Chantal stood up and undid the button and zipper on her conservative skirt to completely reveal her silk, black thigh high stockings, her garter belt and straps holding them up and her French cut black lace panties. The head of her dick was peeking out for the sides, unable to be hidden with such a delicate piece of material. Leaving her bra on, with her tits still hanging out, she slid her panties down her thighs and stepped out of them, kicking them to the side with her high heeled foot.

She stroked her shaft just inches from Tony’s face. She knew what he wanted and she coaxed out a drip of precum, ran her finger over the tip, and brought it to her lips. She sucked that finger like a mini dick, making Tony moan. She wiggled it in his face and he took the bait like a fish takes a worm. This was a helluva worm, full and thick and filling his mouth as he sucked it. Chantal was a helluva fisherman as well, wielding that rod with skill. In fact, she fucked his face with an equal level of skill as he had done to her. “Look at you, big strong man fagging out on my T-girl dick. Who would have guessed? I bet before the night is over you’ll be bending over and begging me to fuck you too.”

Her words were meant to incite him, to push his buttons and they did. “You little . . . I’m no fag. I’ll show you.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her over his lap. His dick and her dick were sensually rubbing against one another. He ran his hands gently over her ass cheeks. She squirmed and wiggled, waiting for the inevitable. The first blow came down without warning, warming her ass but she didn’t make a sound. Intent on making her beg for mercy for her insolent comments, he wanted her to cry, wanted to hear her beg for forgiveness. With a steady slow pace, he reigned down on her ass with blow after blow of hard spanking. But rather than eliciting the response he expected, Chantal was moaning and groaning, begging for more, begging for it harder. She truly experienced pain as pleasure. Perhaps her neurons were misfiring or her brain wasn’t wired correctly but she craved sensation and the more intense the better. Her body was alive with arousal and she felt safe and secure in the arms of this big strong man.

His hand was becoming sore and his dick was ready to explode. He grabbed her by the back of the hair and threw her on the bed. He stood over her, just staring at her. She was breathtaking. Her face was flawless and even through her haze of lust; she still had a look of sophistication. Her body had been sculpted to brown perfection and her dick was one any man would be proud to own.

“Turn over.” That was all he said and she complied.

She got up on her knees and looked back over her shoulder. She reached back with her manicured fingers and spread her cheeks. She made her hole wink at him and pleaded one more time. “Make it hurt Daddy. Shove that big dick in me and show me how a real man fucks. Ram my pussy until I can’t take it anymore. Use it, use me. Fuck me.” He words became an erotic chant, a mantra of sorts, urging him to go balls deep.

He pulled her ass open and spit on it. She moaned out and waited but she didn’t have to wait for long. He lined up the head of his dick with her hole and started pushing in. It was a lot tighter than he had expected. He thought he was going to be able to shove the entire length in in one stroke. In reality, her hole gripped him tighter than any ass he’d been in before, female or shemale.

Chantal braced her arms on the headboard and looked back. “What’s that matter, this pussy too much for you?”

That was all he needed. He pulled back, pulling out until just the head was still inside her, and rammed himself deep in her. Chantal let out a sexy moan and said, “YESSSS, more.” He built up a steady pace, pounding her, working it from side to side, deeper with each stroke. He was spanking her bubble butt hard and gripped her hips so tightly he left imprints in her skin from his nails digging into her flesh. Harder . . . he fucked. Harder still . . . she fucked back, grinding on his dick and doing magic with her pussy. He was sweating, his manly smell covering her perfume.

“Oh shit, I’m going to cum.” Chantal took that as her clue and turned around and dove for his dick with her mouth. “Damn girl, look at you, you are so fucking nasty. Suck it, suck my . . . oh shit . . . fuck . . . damn, I’m going to bust my creamy nut all in your mouth. Here it . . . agrhhhh.”

Chantal moved back enough to get every blast on her tongue. She showed it to him just before she swallowed it. Tony collapsed on the bed and was asleep within a minute. He awoke under the covers in the morning with Chantal fully dressed and looking magnificent again. She kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, I’ve got to get going, I have a lot to do this weekend and I need to get a head start on my errands.”

He reached up and held her hand. “Don’t go,” he said in his sleepy voice, “I want you to stay so we can do it again. This time I don’t want it to be nasty. Let me make love to you.” He pulled back the covers and showed her his morning wood. She tried to pull away but she was mesmerized by the beauty of his body and his throbbing erection that called out to be licked and sucked some more. “I had a wonderful time last night but let me show you the other side of me. I’m only here for a couple more days. It’s be a shame to waste any of that time. Let me satisfy you.” Her protests were quickly quieted as she climbed in bed with him and snuggled her naked body next to his.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Some rules are made to be broken.

The word limit for stories posted on AfroerotiK is usually 2500. You will be hanging on to every one of these 5000 steaming hot words, penned by erotic author extraordinaire Kenya. Kenya has given us a gift that epitomizes everything that AfroerotiK stands for. Her story, Breakfast in Bed, Sort of . . . shows that sex between committed, loving partners is the most mind-blowing sex possible. I was aroused beyond belief from the scorching HOT intimacy and I was thrilled that someone was courageous enough to show a Black couple exploring all sorts of romantic, sensual, seductive, and passionate play together.





Check out the latest featured erotic writer.

Taking it to the Hole



“Let’s head over to West 4th for a pickup game, whadda ya say?” It was a hot summer New York night, the kind where it doesn’t dip below 80 degrees and anyone and everyone is out and about, looking for something to do. The idea sounded like a great one to Ernesto; his friends, however, weren’t as enthusiastic.

“Whadda ya fucking crazy? It’s fucking hot as fuck. What the fuck do I want to fucking go all the way to fucking Manhattan for a fucking game of fucking basketball to further sweat my big hairy fucking balls off at 10 o’clock at fucking night? Are you fucking kidding me?” His cousin Vinny had the vocabulary of a Soprano and the basketball skills of a third grade girl and there was no way in hell he was gonna go anywhere to play basketball at any time. He needed to play it off so he went on and on about how hot it was and about how it was too far to travel. The rest of the gang; two Tony’s, Tony A. and Tony M., and Joey, weren’t the worst basketball players in the world but they certainly knew enough to know that if they were going to go to W.4th Street for a pickup game, they would get spanked. They all moaned about how hot it was and dismissed the idea.

Ernesto couldn’t be dissuaded so easily. It was a hot Saturday night and he knew the courts would be packed. He needed to go. He just couldn’t see himself hanging out in the neighborhood, drinking 40s out of a brown paper bag, talking about bangin’ girls, listening to Tupac and bitching about over how hard it is to be a white man in today’s society. Ernesto was different. Born in Tuscany, he’d moved to Brooklyn when he was 11 to live with his aunt and uncle when his parents died in a car crash. Twenty years later, he had lost his foreign accent but never quite acquired a New York on either. He stood out like a sore thumb in so many ways. He was the most worldly of the group always looking to experience new adventures, he’d gone to out of state for college. Most of the guys around the way had never gotten past high school, let alone moved out of state. Truth be told, a few had never even been to the Bronx. He had a great job in Manhattan as a massage therapist; his friends thought that was some fairy shit. It was okay when his clients were hot chicks but they were disgusted by the idea of rubbing on some sweaty dude. He even looked different. His complexion was naturally darker, his jet black hair just touched his shoulders, steel gray eyes, and a 6’2” body he worked on religiously, all worked together to make him look like a Calvin Klein model. Most of his buddies stood under 5’11” with short hair and were getting little beer bellies in their 30s.

For all of their differences, Ernesto was accepted and loved in the community like he was no different at all. And he loved his family and his friends. They had taken care of him when he was at his lowest, most lonely point. While most people anticipated he would have gotten an apartment in Manhattan, Ernesto stayed in the hood to help take care of his grandmother who had come from Italy 10 years ago because she was aging. His aunt and uncle both worked graveyard and didn’t have the time to care for her in the evenings and Vinny and Theresa, his other cousin, only knew how to curse in Italian so they couldn’t really communicate well with her. Ernesto loved his family and would do anything for them so leaving Brooklyn, leaving Carnasie, was really out of the question.

“I’ll check you guys later, I’m heading to the city to play some ball.” Nobody was shocked and they barely looked up as he grabbed his gym bag and headed for the subway. He plopped down on the cool seat and pulled out the book he’d been reading, a collection of works by James Baldwin. He was fascinated by social commentary and the descriptions of racism that peppered the dialogue about being a Black gay man in America. Being a gay man himself, a closeted gay man, he connected with the words, he connected with the struggle and the rage. His friends, even though he had sucked off most of them when they were kids, including his cousin, were as homophobic as they come. They had to be. It was part and parcel for the good fella’s persona that they had to carry off. It never occurred to them that Ernesto could be gay because he was masculine, athletic, and he had women swooning over him every time he walked in a room. The stuff that happened when they were younger was just boys being boys, and they would never admit to anyone the experimentation they had done as kids so his secret was pretty safe.

As he emerged from the bowels of the train system, into the humid night air of Greenwich Village, except for the fact that it was dark, it could have been 11:00 in the afternoon instead of 11:00 at night. The streets were bustling with activity, packed with people out doing anything and everything you could think of. He made his way to the courts and just watched the first two games. Ever since he could remember, he’d loved Black men. As cliché as it sounds, after his first Black lover, he had no desire to be with another white man again so the old “once you go black” adage was true in his case. For the better part of 7 years he’d dated Black men exclusively. Sitting there, seeing all of those toned and muscled bodies, gave him an even further appreciation of the Black male form. It wasn’t a lustful appreciation, well, at least not in the overtly sexual sense. It was a profound and deep respect for not just their physical bodies, but for the struggle they endured that he read about in the pages of his book.

He was always certain to get picked for a team. There’s an unspoken code that says that white boys who hang out on basketball courts are looking to get served so people was always looking to school them make sure they play. Three on three, half court, to 21, shirt vs. skins. He was shirts and he was playing the team who had just won the last game. Skins got the ball first and scored three points right off the bat. Ernesto was guarding a guy who had dominated the previous game and he knew he had to be tired so he was body-checking and going toe to toe under the rim. They were the same height, even the same body type, but his opponent was the color of caramel with a shiny bald head. It was a queer guy’s heaven, being able to publicly run his hands over that smooth flesh, the rippling muscles, sweaty, hard thighs pressed against his own. It was all about the game for Ernesto and he played hard, making sure everyone knew he was there to ball. The guy Ernesto was guarding gave him an elbow and sent him to the ground. There ain’t no fouls in street ball so he was right back up and in the game; he didn’t miss a beat. He got the ball and showed he had some skills. The other part of the unspoken code is, that when a white boy has skills on the court, he becomes the unofficial court favorite, getting his own cheering squad on the sidelines and everything.

The score was 19 to 20 with the skins leading and the shirts had the ball. Dude was blocking him, checking him hard, when Ernesto got the ball in the paint. He pivoted and -- whoosh, nothing but net. In the split second right before the shot, he thought . . . maybe he was mistaken, but he could have sworn he felt ole boy grabbing for his dick. Not just body contact that happens during the course of a game, but actually palming his crotch, almost caressing it. It had happened so quickly and the score was tied so he couldn’t dwell on it. The two adversaries stood toe to toe, making intense eye contact. The court lights made every drop of sweat glisten on his shirtless opponent. One of the skins sank the final shot ending the game. The entire court erupted in cheers and back slapping and kudos about the great game.

Ernesto sat on the bench and pulled out his towel. His book was on the top of the bag so he sat it next to him. While he was toweling off and catching his breath, drinking a little Gatorade, he saw a hand reaching out to him.

“Good game man, I’m impressed.”

He extended his hand and looked up, “Yeah, congratulations, great game,” Ernesto replied, still trying to catch his breath.

“Name’s Flex. Anytime you want to play a little game of pick up, let me know, I’d love to have you on my team.” He smiled a gorgeous smile and Ernesto looked up and then down, his eyes resting on the crotch directly eye level in front of him.

“Your mom named you Flex,” Ernesto asked, trying to sound aloof but still out of breath and doing his best not to show it.

“My pops named me Eugene, Jr. but I’ll beat somebody’s ass if they call me that. So it’s Flex.” They both laughed.

“Yeah, my name is Ernesto and we got problems if you call me Ernie, so I’m really feeling you. Here have a seat.” He moved his book out the way and slid down a half a foot to let Flex sit down next to him. They watched a little bit of the next game in silence.

“You from around here,” Flex asked?

“Nah, I live in Brooklyn,”

“Oh, I see.”

That sat in silence some more, watching the game and neither one of them willing to address what had happened on the court. Ernesto figured he’d been mistaken. It was a physical game and maybe Flex didn’t know he was grabbing his dick. Maybe he thought it was his arm or something. That had to be it.

“”Is this your book? Man, I love James Baldwin. ‘I am what time, circumstance, and history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also, much more than that.’ Now that some deep shit right there.” Just then, it was as if the wall of ice had been broken. The two men started talking and sharing and letting down their guards. They had a connection more than sports and it was electric. “Are you busy right now, I mean, are you in a rush to head back to Brooklyn, because I only live around the corner from here. We can go to my place and hang out if you want. I’m not a serial killer . . . any more, I promise.” They both laughed and Flex flashed that gorgeous smile and before Ernesto knew what was happening, they were walking towards 10th street and in a cute little studio apartment. Flex was a graphic designer for and advertising firm and had moved from his own roots in Queens to his little apartment 7 years ago.

Once inside the apartment, the only place to sit comfortably was the futon. Ernesto looked uncomfortable. He didn’t want to put his smelly, sweaty ass on the sofa. He was really feeling this guy and wanted to be invited back and he didn’t think that would make such a great first impression to leave his scent, so to speak, so he was trying to figure out how he could sit on the floor without looking like a dork.

Flex came to the rescue before he could even process the thought completely in his head. “Hey, it’s pretty hot out there; you can take a shower if you want to cool off. Guests first. Here’s a towel and everything’s in the bathroom you should need.” He dropped his gym bag by the door inside in the small bathroom. He took off his sweaty clothes and stepped in the shower, feeling the warm water wash away the layer of sweat. Shutting his eyes, he thought back to the court. Had he gotten his signals mixed? Maybe Flex was just a nice guy who wanted to hang out; maybe he happened to like James Baldwin because he was a great writer, not because he was a great gay Black writer. Maybe that hand caressing his dick wasn’t really caressing it; maybe it was just part of the game, maybe to make him miss his shot. Whatever it was, Ernesto was deep in thought, remembering the feel of Flex’s hand on his cock, the same cock that he had in his hand now and was stroking, thinking about his sexy, sweaty new friend.

He shut his eyes tightly and started thinking all sorts of nasty thoughts, jerking off and fantasizing. A knock at the door shocked him back to reality.

“Hey, don’t mean to interrupt or anything,” Flex yelled through the door, but do you want something to drink? A martini, a beer, a glass of wine, water, Kool Aid. Anything?”

“A beer’s cool, thanks,” he yelled back and quickly turned off the water to dry off. He didn’t want to put the same stinky clothes back on so he tied the towel around his waist and headed out to see if Flex had anything he could put on. His cock was still hard but he pushed it down and tried to will it so stay soft.

That thought lasted an entire 1.5 seconds because when he opened the bathroom door, he saw Flex, standing naked in front of the closet, grabbing for a towel to put around him. “Hey, how was the shower?” He turned, wrapped the towel around himself and, not waiting for an answer, he said, “Your beer is on the coffee table, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back, I need to take a shower myself.”

Ernesto was impressed with the tiny apartment. His music collection was eclectic but mostly all Black: jazz, blues, R&B, hip hop, even some gospel. The art on the walls was amazing and inspecting further, he saw that most were signed with the name Flex. Because the place was so small, every square inch of space was utilized. Oddly enough, the place didn’t look cluttered at all; it might have been small on space but it was big on style. The timer on the oven went off and Flex was still in the shower so he decided to take out whatever was in there. He opened the door and a fantastic aroma came wafting out. He pulled out the dish and it was some sort of dip that had been heated to go with the tri colored chips that had been put out on a platter. Ernesto was blown away. “This guy can play ball, he can quote James Baldwin, he has a great apartment, he’s creative, he can cook and he’s sexy as hell. Damn, I think I just met my future husband,” he said under his breath.

“What did you say? Oh good, I’m glad you pulled that out. Thanks.” Flex looked even more amazing fresh from the shower with his towel around his waist. Ernesto didn’t bother answering his question and instead took the tray and set it on the coffee table while Flex was opening up the futon. “Here, this will be more comfortable. Have a seat, take a load off.”

The two men lounged on the futon, talking about everything under the sun, sharing details about their lives, drinking beer, listening to music, eating. It was very apparent that Flex was gay, out, and very confident in his sexuality, so much so, he didn’t even make it an issue. Because Ernesto was so ruled by his hidden identity, everything had more impact on him, he had to analyze and dissect everything as if there was a hidden meaning behind it. When Flex offered to let him spend the night, he didn’t know if it was a sexual invitation or not; he didn’t know how to respond.

Flex could sense his hesitation and he left the question open for him to decide. He got up, turned off all the lights, lit a few candles and came back, this time, taking off his towel and letting it fall to the floor. He stood there for a few seconds, letting his new friend take everything in. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” Ernesto shook his head but didn’t say a word. He climbed back on the futon, this time even closer to Ernesto. His heart started beating faster, the blood started pumping in his veins; he was being seduced. Flex reached out to kiss him softly; Ernesto forgot to close his eyes; he wanted to see everything. The kiss was soft and gentle and in many ways atypical of most of kisses Ernesto had ever shared with someone. Usually the men he was with were closeted, intent on proving their masculinity, on dominating the proverbial white man behind closed doors, playing up the thug/Mandingo role. He let his eyes close gently, experiencing the kiss with the rest of his senses. He could smell the clean scent of Flex’s skin, still fresh from the shower; he could feel the softness of his lips against his own. He could taste his tongue gently exploring his mouth and he could hear the soft moan escape from his own lips in awe of the sensations he was feeling.

“Okay, Mr. Massage therapist,” Flex said, “let me check out some of your magic,” as he pulled away from the sensual kiss. He stretched out on his stomach, adding, “Let’s see if you can work out some of this tension I have in my shoulders.”

Ernesto said, “Hold on, let me get my bag.” He returned a few seconds later with a special blend of massage oil he used for work. This time, he also took off his towel and let it fall to the floor as well, exposing his cock that had been half hard since they left the courts. Flex didn’t even look, he had his head resting on his arms and his eyes closed, waiting for his massage. Ernesto straddled his legs and looked down at the gorgeous body he was about to caress. He warmed the oil on his hands and started at the shoulders, aroused by the contrast in skin colors. Flex let out a moan and shifted a little but he didn’t say a word. Working his way downwards, he found the spots that were tight and loosened them; he rubbed the sore muscles and left that smooth brown skin glowing in the candlelight. He worked his way further down, hesitating for a few moments before he started massaging the full, round ass cheeks of his new friend. Flex let out more of a moan and started grinding his hips more, even adjusting himself to make his thickening tool more comfortable under him. Grabbing the bottle of oil, he drizzled it on his skin and started massaging those magnificent mounds of flesh. He wanted to stroke his own cock, now fully erect, but he didn’t, he was intent on doing a good job, better than he’d ever done before.

He worked his way down Flex’s thighs and even used a few reflexology techniques on his feet. “Here, do the fronts of my legs now, I’m sore from that workout you gave me earlier.” He turned over and Ernesto couldn’t move. Flex flashed that gorgeous smile again but that paled in comparison to the body of perfection before him. Shoulders that were broad leading down to muscular toned arms, a hairless, well-developed chest and six pack abs that looked like a washboard. His dick stood up straight and tall and his balls were resting on his thighs. Ernesto didn’t even want to look at the rest of him; he just wanted to drink in the beauty of that magnificent hard cock.

Flex teased him, stroking it casually with his other arm behind his head. “You like that? Go ahead, touch it.” He put his other arm behind his head and repeated, “Go ahead, it won’t bite.”

Ernesto swallowed hard and held the shaft in his hands. The heat from it was incredible and the thickness was impressive to say the least. He grabbed it at the base and brought his hand all the way to the top, twisting his hand just a bit for a little more stimulation. Flex moaned his approval and licked his lips. “Don’t stop,” was all he said. Putting more oil on his hands, Ernesto started stroking more, bringing him to full hardness, coaxing out precum from the head of that delicious looking cock.

“Go ahead, suck it, you know you want to, suck my dick.” The confidence that oozed from Flex made the situation that much more intense, more erotic and Ernesto felt light headed. He wasn’t being rude or domineering, he was just sure of himself, uninhibited.

Ernesto positioned himself between Flex’s legs, stroking him some more, teasing him, and Flex spread his legs to accommodate him. Fingering his balls and holding them up, he started his mouth job there, licking and gently sucking his nuts. Rolling them around in his fingers, he was getting them wet with saliva and licking the sensitive sacks. Flex appreciated the attention to his balls and let him know how good it felt. “Oh shit, it’s been a long time since someone paid attention to my balls like that. Damn, that feels so good. Ohhhh yeah.” He grabbed his knees, pulled them to his chest, giving Ernesto better access. Stopping momentarily to catch his breath, he put one testicle in his mouth and started flicking his tongue back and forth rapidly. Flex could barely breathe it felt so good. “Damn, if you suck my balls that good, I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel when you suck my dick and eat my ass.”

Anxious to get to both of those tasks, he said, “Which of those things would you prefer I do first?” Flex’s dick jumped at those words, his mind reeling with all the erotic possibilities.

Flex grabbed his dick at the base, tapping the head against Ernesto’s lips, teasing him. His instructions were clear. “Suck my dick.”

Not needing any more of an invitation, Ernesto set about his task. He replaced Flex’s hand with his own and started stroking it, using massage techniques to stimulate spots that would make Michelangelo's David squirm. Using his tongue, he began softly licking the head, swirling it around and flicking it gently at the hole. Flex moved his hands down to Ernesto’s head, but not to face fuck him or force him down on his swollen member, but to hold his hair out of the way in order to see the expert job he was doing. He licked up and down the sides, getting the shaft wet, running his tongue over every vein. Flex couldn’t help but show his appreciation by moaning. Lowering his mouth on that beautiful column of flesh, he took just half of it in his mouth. He started sucking it like a baby would suck a nipple making sure to grip the base of the cock firmly in his hand. He took his tongue and started swirling it around the head and shaft and increasing the suction on his sucking. Moving his hand away, he started bobbing up and down on the cock, taking it further and further into his mouth each time. He was getting it wetter and wetter, taking the head to the back of his throat. Flex could do nothing but grip the sheets for dear life and moan, “Holy fuck, damn, shit, that’s some good shit. Oh my god that feels so good.”

Just when he thought it couldn’t feel any better, Ernesto relaxed his throat muscles and let the head of Flex’s thick cock go several inches down. His lips could feel the tickle of his hair so he knew he had accomplished his mission of taking his full length. Then, he decided to perform his magic, he started bobbing up and down, from the head to the base, taking him deep in his throat every time. Spit was dripping down his balls and Flex was breathing so hard he thought he might hyperventilate.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. I can’t take much more of that. Damn, where did you . . . oh shit, you are going to make me cum before the party even starts.” Flex sat up a little bit and the look of sheer panic on Ernesto’s face was evident. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I just wanted to make you feel good, that’s all.” What he really wanted to say was, “I am used to guys using my mouth as many times as they want and I feel like I’ve failed if I didn’t make you cum.”

“You did make me feel good. Too good in fact, that was incredible. I just didn’t want to nut too soon. I like to make things last, go slow, you know.” He leaned over and kissed Ernesto again, as gently and as tenderly as before. Flex lay down on the bed, pulling Ernesto on top of him. Their kissing became more urgent, more passionate. Their tongues and lips were sucking and licking, their dicks were sensually rubbing against one another. Flex was caressing his hands along Ernesto’s spine, grabbing his ass, spreading his cheeks and teasing his hole with his fingertips.

Ready to take things to the next level, Ernesto said, “I want to feel your big cock in my pussy. Fuck me.” Quickly repositioning himself, he crawled to the foot of the bed, got on his knees, and looked back over his shoulder and said in a lust-filled daze, “Fuck me.” He gripped the frame of the futon tightly, prepared to get his asshole savagely fucked but what he felt was entirely different than the searing pain/pleasure he was anxiously anticipating. “Nooo,” he hollered out.

Flex had repositioned himself as well. He was laying between Ernesto’s thighs underneath him and sucking his dick. He wrapped his arms around Ernesto’s back and held him in place while he delivered some equally spectacular head to his new lover. Try as he might, Ernesto could not pull away and he felt his body succumb to the oral pleasures he was receiving. “No, no, no, no,” was all he could say. He thought to himself, “Can’t he tell that I’m a bottom, whose only use and purpose is to serve and please?” Flex was fucking with the entire fabric of the universe. Ernesto got his pleasure, alone, in the solitude of his bed in shame and in silence, long after the sexual experience was over, reliving it in his mind, jerking off to how he had pleased his lover, how he had been the perfect bottom, never expecting any pleasure whatsoever. Flex couldn’t hear any of that internal dialogue, all he was doing was focusing on tasting Ernesto’s dripping precum and returning the sensual favor.

The roles had changed again, this time with Ernesto trying to change the direction of things. He was able to pull away and this time he lay back on the bed and spread his legs, holding them up and pleading with his new lover to be fucked. “Ram that big dick in my pussy, fuck me hard. FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Come on, daddy, I need it so bad. Pound that meat in my slutty asshole and make me beg for more. I’ll be your little whore daddy. Spit on that hole and make it nice and wet and shove that fucker in me and make it hurt.”

What happened next sent a chill of panic and pleasure through Ernesto’s body. Before he could realize what was happening, he felt the soft, gentle tongue of Flex exploring his hole, kissing it, licking it, tongue fucking it. He’d never felt that sensation before in his life. He grabbed his knees and pulled them closer to his chest, exposing his hole even more. All he could feel was the warm, wet sensation of that probing tongue and while his head wanted to say, “Stop.” His mouth was saying, “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good, don’t you dare stop.” As many times as he’d rimmed his lovers before, he never imagined that being on the receiving end could feel so damned sexy.

Flex, inspired by his lover’s words, didn’t disappoint. He licked and sucked and tongue fucked that hole, making it wet and ready. He got on his knees and aimed his bloated dick at that sexy hole. He teased it, teased him, but rubbing his head on that hole. Just before he pushed it in, he leaned down and whispered in Ernesto’s ear, “I want you so fucking bad.” They kissed again and Ernesto felt the head of Flex’s cock enter him. It was slow, steady, calculated and giving him pleasure in every cell of his fucking body. They were grunting and sweating again as the pace was slow and agonizingly sensual. Ernesto was being made love to and he knew it. He used his fingertips to softly explore Flex’s body while the two worked out a rhythm. Flex stroked, Ernesto squeezed, they fucked each other like gorgeous wild animals. The pounding became more intense, the stroking harder, deeper. Their moans grew wilder and their kissing more frenzied.

Flex pulled out and replaced his dick with his mouth, tonguing out that gaping, well-fucked hole. Ernesto made a sound that couldn’t be described. It was the singular most erotic, nasty, sensual feeling he’d had in his life. He grabbed his cock and started pounding it furiously, ready to spew his load then and there. Flex had other plans. Grabbing the bottle of massage oil, he flipped the top open and poured it on Ernesto’s prick. Ernesto held his breath, almost sure he knew what was going to happen next but terrified to think about it.

Flex moved into position and straddled his body. He could feel his cock rubbing between those full, round ass cheeks. In that moment, in his mind, Ernesto outted himself. He knew that he could no longer remain in the closet; he realized that he has handicapped himself by not being able to love whomever he wanted freely. He knew that he could not keep his secret any longer to anyone. In the darkness of his self imposed closet, he was a submissive bottom. In the light of his sexual freedom, he was a man who loved other men. His revelation was distracted by the feel of his cock penetrating Flex’s tight asshole. He felt the ring of his ass gripping every millimeter of his erection, squeezing it. He looked up to see a look of sheer pleasure and bliss on Flex’s face, unencumbered by roles of top or bottom, just expressing his sexuality freely and genuinely.

With his ass settled down on Ernesto’s body, Flex started grinding and winding his ass, using his ass muscles to work that hot dick. Ernesto grabbed his hips and started thrusting, fucking him back, working his dick in harder, trying to go deeper. Flex started bouncing up and down on his dick, riding him hard. The look on his face was one of pure bliss. Ernesto shut his eyes and got lost in the sensation, “Oh Flex, I love . . . this, I love this.” He really wanted to say I love you. It was as if every fiber of his being wanted to profess his love for the man who was giving him pleasure in ways he’d never imagined.

Flex leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I love you too.” Both of them knew it was the lust talking, both of them knew intellectually that it couldn’t be love based on a couple of hours. Both of them knew that there was a connection there that would last well past a one night stand or casual sex as well.

Using his muscular arms, Ernesto flipped Flex over and placed him on his knees. Flex looked back and said, “Fuck me, ram that dick in me.” They both groaned as Ernesto pushed the entire length of his cock in that hot hole and started pounding away. It was pure, unbridled, sensuous fucking. He gripped that brown flesh and pulled him closer, he could see the contrast in skin color, the way Flex’s asshole would grip his cock as he slid in and out, faster, harder, deeper, faster still, harder, using every muscle in his body to give pleasure. He was hitting that hot spot, making Flex moan like a little bitch. The way his cock felt, surrounded by that hot, tight ring, he was cursing in a string of Italian and English and what seemed like another primal language only understood by lovers.

He could feel the cum about to explode from his cock. He began pistoning his cock in and out, harder than he thought he was capable of doing. Flex was taking it all and begging for more. He crushed Flex beneath him and used his ass to pump and pound, His fingers intertwined with Flex as he unloaded his cum deep inside him.

Six months later, Flex and Ernesto stood as a testament to true interracial gay love. They didn’t flaunt their sexuality but they certainly didn’t hide it either. All of his friends in Brooklyn disowned him, wouldn’t speak to him again. They would have been a little more tolerant of the idea if Flex hadn’t been Black but they couldn’t get it out of their minds that their friend, their paesano, was the bitch to a black guy. It was beyond their comprehension that the two were far more than top and bottom, they were reciprocal, versatile lovers with no roles or labels.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK

Tired of seeing black women being portrayed as ghetto bitches, freaks and whores, and black men as barely literate thugs, bulls, and pimps, Scottie Lowe decided it was time to show black people in a positive sexual light. Ms. Lowe is the sole owner and founder of www.AfroerotiK.com, a company dedicated to eradicating the negative and stereotypical depictions of Black sexuality and providing customized, personalized erotic stories for and about people of color. Her innovative approach to writing Black erotica is shattering misperceptions and opening the doors to dialogue about subjects long considered taboo.

Monday, March 19, 2007

The womanist theory



I’m always amazed at how quickly Black women embrace the term womanist and reject the term feminist. You hear the same argument all the time, “White women have commandeered the feminist movement for their own agenda so I consider myself a womanist because of what Alice Walker wrote about in her book, “In Search of our Mother’s Gardens.” Here’s the news flash. White people commandeer everything to fit their agenda, there’s nothing new there, and Alice walker didn’t come up with a womanist theory, she wrote “womanist prose” a term to describe the soulfulness and struggle of Black women. Black women are so terrified of being called lesbian and so afraid of offending patriarchal Black men with the term feminist, that they’ve embraced the term womanist and it’s gone unchecked.

What’s the difference between a feminist and a womanist? Well, a womanist is more concerned with Black issues. Does that mean that we need to come up with a different name for Democrat since I’m more concerned with Black issues than white Democrats? Well, a womanist is more concerned with the family. Well, white women get married more than Black women so the womanist movement isn’t being particularly effective, are they? Entire bodies of study have been created at universities all over the nation in order to appease the insecurities of Black women who are terrified of being called a feminist for fear that someone is going to assume they have hairy legs and wear flannel. God forbid a Black woman stands up and says, I am a woman and I am a feminist.

Feminists work to dismantle the social, political, and economic disparity between the genders. Feminists aren’t lesbians, although they can be, feminists don’t hate men although we certainly have a right to hate their privilege. Feminists aren’t “against the family,” as so many Black women want to imply. Feminists simply take a stand against the oppression and tyranny of women under the auspices of men being somehow inherently superior. Black women weaken our movement by catering to the irrational fears of Black men. You can not be a warrior in the struggle if you are starting your crusade from a place of concession. If you refer to yourself as a womanist, you’ve already said to the world, “I don’t want to be equal to men because I don’t want them mad at me for being a feminist.”

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Poolside Fun by AfroerotiK


It was a perfect day for lounging by the pool, the temperature was just right and the sun was shining brightly with billowy clouds of white decorating the sky. With manicured hedges, the neighbors couldn’t see a thing, which made nude sunbathing a perfect option. Chancellor had invited a friend over to have some drinks, relax in the hot tub, and “play”. The doorbell rang and he threw a towel on for modesty’s sake and invited Amber inside. She looked like a vision of bronze beauty standing there. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders, her makeup was done to perfection, her tits spilled out of her skimpy bathing suit top in every direction and her sexy bathing suit cover-up barely covered anything. Even her toenails were a delicious color of cotton candy pink in her sexy open toed sandals.

Walking past Chancellor and heading straight for the bar, Amber fixed herself a drink. She tossed her oversized purse down and excused herself to the ladies room to freshen up a bit. Chance was waiting for her by the pool, one leg on the side, one leg in the water, casually stroking his stiffening cock when she returned. Amber emerged, freshly applied lip-gloss shining in the sun, her smooth brown skin looking like a Hershey’s chocolate bar and her bathing suit bottoms were filled out to perfection. It wasn’t just her heavenly round ass that made it bulge; it was the nine inches of fully functioning hard dick meat that filled them to capacity as well. You see, Amber was a passable, GORGEOUS Black T-girl and affectionately called Saddam Hussein because she was known around town for hiding a huge weapon of mass destruction.

Chance moaned as he watched Amber do a sexy striptease, first removing her bikini top, rubbing sun screen on her puffy, dark nipples. She turned around and bent over, giving Chance a great view as she slid her tiny bikini bottoms down her long, shapely legs and kicked them to the side. Teasing him, she spread the cheeks of her ass and winked her sexy hole at him. Still in her high heels, she turned around and showed off her body in it’s full splendor: a face so beautiful that it could launch a thousand ships, tits that longed to be sucked, a tiny waist and full hips, a flat tummy with it’s silver jewelry sparkling in the sun, a set of legs that would make any supermodel envious, and hooked to the right, already at half mast, thick as a beer can, as dark as midnight, and a few inches shy of a foot, it was the thing Chance desired more than anything.

Laying on a towel by the edge of the pool, Amber stretched out and closed her eyes. Chance got in the pool and walked over to where she was, looking so beautiful he almost couldn’t believe that there could exist such a beautiful Ebony Goddess with such a big fucking dick between her legs. Without foreplay, without pretense, he bent to lick the small drop of precum that had collected at the tip. Amber didn’t move, she just lay there waiting for her friend to service her. Using both hands to grip it, Chance started licking and sucking, sliding that monster prick in and out of his mouth. He was bobbing up and down on it, getting more and more enthusiastic with his sloppy blowjob. He took the full length in his mouth and started gagging, it was just too long and too thick to take, but that didn’t stop him. He ran his tongue around those huge balls and tried to get them both in his mouth. He inhaled the musky smell of a man’s nuts only too look up and see a woman playing with her sexy tits. He did his best he could to get that dick hard and wet. Amber grabbed his head and pushed it down on her fat cock, this time really making him choke. She sat up on the side of the pool and swung her legs around to hang in the water. Chancellor moved his mouth to her breasts for a moment, pushing them together to try and get both nipples in his mouth at the same time, before looking up and saying, “Please fuck me with that big beautiful dick of yours. Fuck my manpussy, make me scream, make me your bitch. I want it so bad.”

Being more assertive, Amber grabbed Chance by the hair and pulled him over to one of the lounge chairs. She had him standing but his hands were resting on the arms of the chair. She flipped open the bottle of suntan oil and poured it on the crack of his ass. He moaned out because it was warm from being heated by the sun but also because he knew what was about to happen. Amber used two of her perfectly manicured fingers to work some of the oil into his hole and Chance was whimpering like a baby, begging to get fucked.

Amber took the oil and poured half the bottle on her fuck stick. She gripped it firmly and aimed the head up with Chance’s tight hole. He gripped the sides of the chair firmly, waiting and ready for the fuck of his life. It took some time to get even the first few inches inside him. He was wiggling his ass, sweating, cursing, he wanted to cry it hurt so badly but he knew in a few short minutes, it would feel better than anything he’s ever felt before. It wasn’t their first time together but each time was better than the previous time. Each time, Chance knew what to expect and he could give himself over to the pleasure of that long, thick, hard, black tool pounding him harder and deeper than anyone or anything could ever do.

With half of her dick in him, Amber started spanking Chance, getting more abusive. “Look at you, look at you fagging out on this sexy T-girl cock. I’m practically ripping you apart and you love it. You love this big hard shaft deep in you. You want me to unload these sexy low hanging balls in your cunt, to turn you into my little bitch, don’t you, and breed you like a little whore? Work for it. Show me how much you love my girl meat in you.”

Well placed shrubbery couldn’t do a damn thing to keep the neighbors from hearing Chance’s moans and groans as Amber worked the last few inches deep in his asshole. She gripped his hips and started pounding him, slamming the thick tool hard and fast. She leaned over and he could feel her titties against his back which only made him moan louder. Her balls where slapping against his. His dick was rock hard and ready to explode. “Where do you want it bitch? Where do you want my hot load of cum,” she taunted him.

His answer really didn’t matter; she would give it to him any way she wanted. She gripped his hips tighter, started pistoning faster, deeper, harder. She slammed every millimeter deep in his hot ass as his muscles tried to drain her of every drop of cum. Balancing herself on her high heels, gripping his hips for leverage, she pounded, rammed and fucked him senseless, depositing every drop of cum she had deep in his belly.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK


The Fountain of Ecstasy



Trinity was hesitant to sleep with Peter John for the first time. It wasn’t because she was ashamed of her full, voluptuous body like society would want her to be or because she was trying to play some sort of “I don’t want you to think I’m a whore” waiting game with him. Nope, Trinity was very attracted to Peter John but she also knew that her pussy has a tendency to mesmerize and captivate men, make them lose their minds. It was a special gift she had, one she couldn’t even control, but it made men lose their minds and she really liked Peter John, she didn’t want to add him to the collection of men went crazy for her special “talent.”

Her hormones got the best of her, however, after a great date with her new boyfriend. Things had been progressing rather nicely between them and Peter John was ready to take things to the next level. He pulled out all the stops one evening, dinner, dancing, and even surprising her with her favorite book, one she’s mentioned in passing and didn’t think he’d remembered. Peter John remembered everything she said. He was into this woman in a big way. She was sexy personified; every head would turn when she walked in the room. Confidence oozed from her very pores.

After dinner, Peter John drove out to the lake and parked his truck. It was a hot summer night and there were a few other couples out to enjoy the cool breeze and the full moon. The couple strolled hand in hand along the pier and then back to sit on a bench and watch the people go by. Peter John pulled her close in his arms, her back towards him, and couldn’t resist filling his hands with her full breasts. Feeling a bit tipsy from the wine and completely intoxicated by his sweet demeanor, Trinity gave in and a moan escaped from her lips. Before long, the couple was groping each other, kissing, and ready for some hot and heavy action. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket and grabbing her hand to rush her back to his house.

There’s something about a steamy summer night that makes people take chances. As he opened her door to help her in, Peter John couldn’t resist the temptation. How could he? Trinity’s legs, smooth and brown, were too tempting as she slid in the truck. “Wait, he said, as he slid her around in the seat to face him and got down on his knees in front of her. “I have to taste you NOW. I can’t wait any more.”

Getting down on his knees, PJ began kissing his way up Trinity’s legs, spreading them further. She sounded convincing in telling him to stop, for the full half a second she tried, before she gave into the splendid sensation of her new lover’s soft lips kissing the tender warm flesh between her legs. She leaned back and he pulled her forward more, her full ass on the edge of the seat. Maneuvering her panties down her legs, he tossed them in the back seat and the light of the moon illuminated one of the most beautiful pussies he’d every seen. He wasted no time in diving in; eating her like she was dessert. It’s a good thing he had a sweet tooth because her juices tasted like honey. He was lapping her pussy, licking, sucking, and feasting on her sexy ass. His tongue was in overdrive, licking from her clit to her asshole and back again.

Trinity was out of her mind. The idea of some strange passerby casually strolling up on them and seeing them in the middle of a very public display was turning her on. She grabbed PJ’s head and held it to her pussy. She was chanting, moaning, purring like a kitten, it would have been very obvious to anyone who was interested that some hot and heavy exploration was going on in that vehicle but that couldn’t have been what Ford meant when they were naming their truck.

Peter John was so turned on; he reached in his pants and freed his raging dick. He was doing his best to stroke it but he couldn’t keep his hand off the glorious ass Trinity was grinding on his face. But within a matter of seconds, Trinity was pushing him away. One minute, she was telling him she was going to cum, the next minute, she was saying stop. Confused and sure she had only been seconds from cumming, he backed away and stood up, his dick leaking precum, hard and swollen. Trinity was rubbing her wet pussy and staring at him like he was tender young gazelle and she was a fierce lioness waiting to attack. He stroked his dick watching her, her legs spread, aroused, a look of lust on her face.

He was all too tempting, standing there, wanting her. “Fuck me, she said, and she beckoned him to put his throbbing dick where his tongue had been moments earlier. For a second, for the first few seconds in fact, Peter John thought that he has put his dick in a magical pussy. She was tight and hot and wet, but there was some sort of ridge in her pussy that was hitting the head of his dick and it was sending sensations through his body like he’d never felt before. That same spot was doing magical things to Trinity as well because every time he hit it, she would scream and moan and beg him to fuck her harder. “Yeah, you like that pussy, don’t you? Yeah, oh shit, damn that dick is making me feel good. Yeah, work it in there hard and slow, just like I like it.”

Her legs on his shoulders, Peter John was putting it down. They were both in a zone and loving every second of their passionate love making. Then, all of a sudden, he felt her tense up, he saw her shut her eyes, and he heard her say, “Oh noooo, I’m cumming.”

Then, without warning, it was like someone opened the gates of a dam. With his dick buried deep inside her, and her muscles milking him, he felt her body tremble and her legs tense up and he felt wave after wave of cum shooting out of her pussy. Stunned, he stepped back, only to see Trinity’s pussy shooting cum out like a super soaker. His pants were drenched and the seat of his car was soaked.

Breathing heavily, Trinity tried her best to sit up and apologize. “I’m sorry . . . I uhmmm . . . you see, when I cum I just can’t help it. I tried to warn you when you were eating my pussy. I didn’t want you to drown or choke, but I got distracted when I saw you standing there with your dick so hard.”

“You mean like this?” He looked down at his erection and he was pounding it, stroking it furiously.
“Oh shit, yeah, just like that,” she said, and slid off the seat, pulled her skirt up to reveal her magnificent ass and looked back over her shoulder and said, “I can’t take it, I need your to fuck me again.”

This time, Peter John thought he was prepared but he couldn’t have been more wrong. From behind, that ridge was hitting spots on his dick that made him see stars. He was long stroking, working her, feeling that soft flesh in his hands as Trinity was grinding her pussy on him. “Damn, I love that dick. Are you gonna make me cum again. You gonna make this pussy squirt one more time?”

Peter John grabbed her hips, filling his hands with her and fucking her like a man possessed. This time, her orgasm was met with his, shooting, filling her, adding to the mess that would have to be explained away to the car detailer with some flimsy, lame excuse.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK


Loving my Blood



The Creator has seen fit to allow me to wear the queenly robes of a Black woman in this lifetime. It is an honor for which I’m humbled. I have the ability to nourish and feed life inside me with my blood. Every month, my temple cleanses itself with my menses by shedding the cells and nutrients intended to cradle life. It’s miraculous in and of itself how the female body is so divinely crafted and the potential for life which it holds. Men, and their patriarchal domination, have somehow brainwashed women into thinking that their blood is a curse. Without that blood, they wouldn’t have survived, lived, or thrived in the womb. That blood fed their cells and enabled them to have life, know life. I’m aware that my blood is a divine gift.

I struggle with loving my blood, try as I may, because it comes with such debilitating pain. The pain is so intense, so distracting, that it seems that is consumes me. I would love to celebrate my blood in ritual, to treat it as sacred fluid deserving of the highest exaltation but I’m paralyzed by the pain that is associated with it. I suspect that my pain is the manifestation of centuries of rape, abuse, and disrespect that has been forced upon the wombs of my ancestors. I’m quite sure that moving away from a holistic diet based on plants and organic foods for generations has contributed to collective cramping of our uteruses. Were I to have a child, I suspect that I would be able to love my blood more, knowing that my blood fed my offspring in my womb. If I were to have a partner, I suspect that I would be able to love my blood more, knowing that I would have someone’s hand to hold, to fix me tea and tell me everything was going to be okay.

When I was young, before I got my period, it’s all I wanted. All my friends got it before me and I wanted to experience that rite of passage. I was anxious for it to come, as all girls are. I wasn’t told it was a curse by my mother or grandmother, although I was told that getting my feet during my period would cause me to get a deep voice; a rule I lived by for the better part of a year before I chanced it. The day I got my period was my cousin’s 8th birthday. We were having a party and I felt the first signs discomfort before the first drop of blood appeared. By the time I had my Kotex maxi pad and the belt in place, I was doubled over in pain, asking my grandmother repeatedly, “Why didn’t you tell me it was going to hurt this much? Why didn’t you tell me?” My mother suffered from dysmenorrhea just as I did until she had a hysterectomy.

I don’t suffer from mood swings, I don’t get cravings. My periods are short but they come with a knockout punch. For 24 hours, I’m loathe to do anything other than take pain pills and suffer in agony. I would so love to teach my daughter, if I’m ever blessed to have one, to love her blood but I fear I will pass on my feelings of fear and apprehension about the pain. I want to celebrate my blood, praise my blood as the gift that it is. I want to rejoice in my blood but I am handicapped by the pain.


Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Admiration of Lovers


There was that moment of recognition, that split second when I first laid eyes on you that I knew you were the one. Every fiber of my being, every cell in my body recognized you as my other half. I was enveloped with a peace that passeth understanding and love so deep, so profound that I knew my reality had been shifted forever. Never more could I be satisfied with the mundane and the average.

You moved slowly and deliberately, arousing me with your mere presence. Your hugs would cause my knees to weaken and the gentle touch of your fingertips to the nape of my neck would elicit intense sensations of pleasure. Your seduction of me was complete, stimulating my mind with your knowledge, my soul with your insight and my body with your slow and calculated caresses. Your kisses, oh your sweet kisses, such ecstasy and intoxication I’ve never known. (Musical bridge 10 seconds) I close my eyes to receive your kiss and I float freely in a realm of bliss. Your soft tongue licks and your tender lips envelope mine and I respond in kind, letting my mouth express my passion and desire. Your hands explore my body with such tender and intentional strokes. I feel my temperature rise and my body begin to ache for you to complete me. Lover, come unto me, join with me so that we might fulfill our destinies and become one.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Life Imitates Art

Norma, a corporate art buyer who prides herself on being the definition of conservative, goes on a gallery crawl in search of the next great artist. What she finds is that serendipity and fate have other plans for her. She is reunited with an old paramour and finds herself face to face with an image of her sexuality that holds her captive. She has to choose between her normally austere life of strict rules and delving into a world of hedonism and lesbian passion with a bohemian lover who releases her inner muse.



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Inextinguishable Flame

Can you forgive the unforgivable? When the very successful head of an entertainment company, Robbie Scott, is reunited with her old flame, Elijah Ringer, she has to figure out the answer to that very difficult question. Elijah has been the source of a tremendous amount of pain and anguish, and an extraordinary amount of lies and manipulation in her past and he comes back into her life after 7 years, a new man, to apologize for the things he’s done wrong. She struggles with accepting him into her life as a transformed man and surrendering to a force that is more powerful than either he or she can control versus holding on to the pain of the past. Surrendering to the force leaves the pair locked in a hotel room and unleashing their passions like primal beasts.


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Reality Bites

Brianna is fed up with the abundance of reality TV shows that show Black women in a degrading light. She auditions for the newest show with the intent of making a grand political and social commentary on camera. She uses her on air time to educate the viewing audience with her wardrobe, wearing t-shirts that have the names of outspoken feminist writers. What comes as a complete shock is the fact that she actually shares a strong intellectual and sexual connection with Michael, the show’s boy toy, right before she gets voted off the show.


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A Twist of Fate

A  Twist of Fate

It’s funny how, in an instant, one’s entire programming can be shifted.  Given the right circumstances, everything that you’ve ever believed, everything that you’ve fought, feared, and resisted can be twisted and morphed into the thing you crave the most.  Such was the case with Taja Crawford, who took a frightening journey that would leave her breathless, satisfied in ways she didn’t know existed, and craving much more.

It all started innocently enough, when Taja arrived home late one night from shopping.  She dragged her bags through the front door and dropped them at her feet as she reached around to hit the light switch.  She’d been out shopping as usual.  It had become her hobby of late in an ongoing effort to make herself feel valuable and beautiful.  As soon as the door closed behind her, she knew something was wrong.  It was pitch black!  She remembered pulling into the subdivision and none of the other houses were dark so she figured that there must be a blown fuse somewhere.  Her husband had been working around the house for a few days so she thought that he might have accidentally knocked something out. 

“Phillip, are you here?”  She called out to her husband again and there was no answer.  “It just figures that dumb ass wouldn’t be here to fix the mess he made,” she mumbled half under her breath and half aloud.  Taja’s anger at her husband was typical, even if he hadn’t done anything specifically wrong; she was going to find a way to blame him for something.  Philip was a model husband but Taja’s irrational standards were impossible to meet.  She took pleasure in degrading him every chance she got and knowing full well that he would take it.  She thought it was nothing less than an honor and a privilege for any man to be with her, that men had an obligation to take anything that she dished out and not say a word.  The more she could degrade him, the better she would feel about herself. 

Disoriented by the darkness Taja fumbled to find her purse to get her cell phone.  Just her luck, the battery had died.  That just made her angrier and curse Phillip more, even though he clearly had nothing to do with her phone.  Luckily for her, she’d just purchased some brand new candles so all she had to do was let her eyes adjust for a second and find the lighter, which was right on top of the fireplace in the living room.   

Before she even had a chance to get her bearings  . . . the unimaginable happened.  It was every woman’s worst nightmare and it was happening in her own home.  She felt the hands, the pressure, the pain, the fear overcome her body in a split second.  Taja was grabbed and immobilized, her arms pulled around behind her as she cried out, “Nooooooooo.  STOP,” but her cries were muffled by a black leather gloved hand over her mouth.  She was pushed against the front door and she felt the air being forced out of her lungs.  She fought, struggling with her assailant, trying to resist him but she was quickly overpowered.  Her mind was racing, she was praying, she was planning a strategy for escape all at the same time.  She was in a panic.  Her fear was soon displaced by rage as she hated this person for invading her home and was filled with the desire to exact revenge, even in her current helpless state.  She fought with all her might but she was overpowered as her limbs began to fatigue.  She was no match for her assailant. 

In a matter of seconds, she had calmed down enough to know that she was going to have to use her wits to get out of this situation.  With his hand still firmly against her mouth, she tried to get some image of what this person looked like.  Could it be someone that she knew?  Was it a total stranger?  Fear coursed through every vein in her body as she imagined it was one of her cyber lovers.  She’d spent many late nights cheating online, chatting with men in explicit sexual language in an attempt to add some spice to her life, to taunt Phillip and prove to him that she could have any man she wanted.  She’d been careless, sharing exaggerated, intimate details about her life in order to make herself seem more affluent than she really was.  Maybe one of those men had come to do unspeakable sexual acts on her.  Tears were burning in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow.  The adrenaline pumping in her body was causing her to sweat and her legs felt like gelatin.

Her attacker leaned in close and whispered, “Shhhhhhh,” and Taja nodded very calmly to indicate that she understood.  As soon as he removed his hand, something was stuffed in her mouth and then a handkerchief or scarf of some sort was tied in place.  Her first reaction was to try to scream to get a gauge of how much sound she could make through the material but she held off.  She didn’t know if this person had a gun or a knife and what his intentions were so she played it cool until she could devise a plan.  He placed a silk blindfold over her eyes and she was struck by his gentle touch.  She noticed how he gently lifted her hair to secure the blindfold and the soft lingering touches he gave to her face.    She felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs being put on her wrists.  She needed to know what he wanted to do so she would have to gain his confidence enough to let her speak so she played the part of a scared victim but she was actually using her skills as an actress to make him think that she was incapable of escape. 

The strange attacker led Taja down the hall to the spare bedroom and closed the door and locked it behind them.  Her heart dropped when she thought about what had happened to her husband.  Phillip wasn’t just your average good guy; he was a great guy.  He owned his own handyman repair business, not glamorous but it paid the bills.  He bought Taja her dream house and he didn’t even complain when he had no say in picking out anything, nothing, not one single thing for the house.  He bent over backwards to be nice to Taja’s meddling sisters and her mother.  Phillip went to church every Sunday even when Taja felt like she had more important things to do, like shop.  He cooked, he cleaned, he even volunteered with disadvantaged youth, he would never cheat and he worked hard to provide for his wife.  His only flaw, to Taja, was not being edgy enough.  She saw the good qualities in Phillip but she wanted flash, she wanted a bad boy.  Certainly, Phillip would never allow anything to happen to her, she knew he loved her with all his heart.  She pushed the horrendous thought out of her mind about how her husband and the intruder might have struggled and fought, Phillip losing only to a bullet or knife wound, fighting to protect his wife.  She didn’t hate Phillip, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, she just wanted him not to take her shit all the time; she wanted to be the wife of someone dangerous.  It really wasn’t his fault that he was average.   

The adrenaline was pumping in Taja’s veins and she was acutely aware of everything going on around her.  Whatever happened, whatever was to happen, Taja maintained her senses and waited for her opportunity to escape.

The spare bedroom wasn’t even a room that she and Phillip usually used.  It was for guests when they came to spend the night; the only time it was ever really used was when Phillip slept there once in a while to keep from angering Taja with his presence.  The stranger led Taja to the middle of the room, and in a split second, Taja’s arms were hoisted above her head and attached to some sort of cable that was secured to the ceiling.  It was the most unbelievably painful and uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced.  Taja was barely standing on her tiptoes and her arms were stretched to the point of excruciating pain.  She was trying to balance herself and she felt herself flailing about like a rag doll.  Her fight or flight instinct took over and she began crying uncontrollably.  She felt her tears stream down her cheeks only to be absorbed by the handkerchief around her mouth.  She tried to “feel” his presence in the room.  He had moved back and was just listening to her muffled cries.  She thought for a second that the end was near and everything would be over shortly.  In her mind, she said her goodbyes and repented for her sins and waited for her untimely demise.  What could have been seconds, what was probably minutes, but felt more like hours passed.  The pain in her arms was unbearable; her legs ached from trying to relieve the pressure but her feet could barely reach the floor.  Maybe he was going to leave her there to die, she thought; the victim of starvation, dehydration and torture. 

Unexpectedly, he released the cable that suspended her from the floor and let her stand.  Her arms were still above her head but the tension had been lessoned to the point where she could move them slightly.  Taja was grateful to him for sparing her such pain and she realized that he had won one battle; he had made her appreciative of his small act of kindness.

He moved around in front of her and she could feel his body heat close to her.  She felt his hands on her sides and run down to her full hips.  He began caressing her breasts and sheer terror shot through her.  Without notice, he ripped her blouse open, tearing it like it was nothing.  Her breathing was heavy, knowing he was probably standing before her, aroused, but she was helpless to do anything about it.  The telltale sign of the cold steel blade of a knife was pressed against her breasts as she froze.  He cut away her bra and the remaining portions of her blouse until she stood topless.  Having removed his gloves, he began caressing her neck, planting gentle, tender kisses on the nape of her neck and her collarbone.  He licked gently, he kissed softly; from her ears to her shoulders and not missing a spot in between.  His soft tongue licked up to her ear and he began blowing softly.  His fingers stroked her flesh as he sucked the tender spot that always made Taja wet. 

Rage coursed through Taja’s body.  The unspeakable was about to happen.  He was going to violate her, take from her something he had no right to take.  For years, she had fantasized about being “raped”.  Without regard for what the word actually meant, she fantasized that violent aggressive sex, that a man “taking” her, actually symbolized that she was more desirable than other women.  The reality was vastly different.  

Her mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the unadulterated fear coursing through her body and her arousal.   She was searching for some way to make sense of the fact that while she was angered and scared she was actually enjoying this man kissing her sweet spot.  He was making love to her neck with his mouth, licking and kissing and caressing her passionately.  She shook her head to shake the thought that here she was, standing bare breasted and restrained by a total stranger, and on some level she was enjoying it.  She was actually enjoying the sensation, it was giving her pleasure and it served to distract her from the pain in her arms that were still secured above her head and the anger of being assaulted.  She was desperate to move her arms; her restraint was painful, both physically and psychologically. 

In an act of kindness, her assailant unfastened the handkerchief around her face and removed the gag from her mouth.  Taja immediately began pleading for her life, trying to talk rationally with the man.  He didn’t say a word; he gently placed his fingers to her lips to indicate to her that he wanted her to be quiet.  Taja froze, and bargained.  “I’ll be quiet if you let my arms down a little, they hurt so badly.  Please.” 

He ignored her pleas as his fingertips began to gently trace her nipples, softly circling her breasts.  Her erect nipples stood out from her body, proudly almost, betraying the fact that she actually enjoyed the stimulation.  When he lowered his mouth to her tits, a small groan could be heard emanating from her throat.  He filled his hands with her breasts and he held them to his mouth.  Taja was outdone and began slightly thrusting back and forth, showing barely detectable signs of sexual arousal.  She was enjoying his ministrations a little too much for her comfort.  He began sucking a little harder and Taja bit her lip to keep from moaning.  He started biting her nipples and it was as if it was sending shots of electricity directly to her clit.  Her brain was misfiring, somehow causing her to experience the sensation as pleasure.  She could feel moisture developing between her legs, the throb of arousal in her pussy.  Taja was confused and determined to control her own desire.  She was always in control and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep her pussy from getting wet.

Even the best laid plans need room for variables.  As Taja was trying to control her arousal, and the man before her was licking, sucking and biting her hard nipples, she experienced a sensation that would send her mind and body reeling.  Her arms were beginning to numb, a dull ache had set in, and she was almost able to tune out the pain when she was jolted by a pain that transformed her focus.  Nipple clamps were applied to her aroused nipples as her captor began to pull a chain attached to them.  He was toying with her, alternating between softly caressing her breasts and roughly pulling the chain that was attached to the clamps.  Taja wasn’t able to hide her arousal, she was moaning in pleasure and in pain.  He took what felt like to be a riding crop and began gently slapping her tits.  Taja was undone; she felt every sting as pleasure.   

Without notice, he stopped, causing Taja’s mind to spin out of control with questions.  “What is he thinking, what is he planning, what was he doing?”  As soon as he stopped the assault on her breasts, she was reminded of the pain in her arms, still suspended from the ceiling.  Within seconds, the cable that held her arms in the air was released enough to let her arms fall completely.  He massaged them for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to massage and lick her breasts as well.  This time, without the gag, it was impossible for Taja to hide the fact that she was aroused; her moans were audible and guttural.  Her arms were burning and sore and his massage felt delicious. 

He pushed her to her knees and circled her like a lion stalking its prey.  Still unable to see anything, there was no mistaking the sounds of his zipper being lowered.  Taja waited, anxious to be thrown into the next phase of arousal and stimulation.  She couldn’t deny to herself that she was experiencing pleasure in ways that she had never imagined possible.  The restraint, the pain, the fact that it was a total stranger controlling her fate . . . all turned Taja on and she was craving more sensation.  When it was all over, when she would tell the tale later, she would deny her arousal, now; she was going to bathe in the nasty and sensual feelings that had been awakened in her.

She felt the tip of his dick against her lips.  He held it there, neither one of them making a move to initiate any action.  Ever so detectably, he began rubbing it on her lips.  The salty, semi-sweet precum that had formed on the head of his dick painted her lips and her first instinct was to lick the fluid away but she remained like a statue, not wanting to scare her captor or cause him to get antsy.  He began to stroke his hard dick and she could hear him moaning.  He put his thumb in her mouth and continued stroking his dick.  Taja was confused.  He could easily have shoved his dick in her mouth and there wasn’t much she could do about it.  She swallowed the saliva that had collected in her mouth and realized that it simulated a sucking action.  He groaned loudly. 

He took his thumb out of her mouth and he grabbed a hand full of her hair.  Taja let out a yelp and he pulled her hair even tighter in his grip.  His breathing was getting more labored and he had now begun to push the head of his dick between her lips.  For the first time, Taja wanted to please her home invader.  She wanted him to be pleased with her oral skills, to consider her sexy and to want her.  Being objectified was her drug of choice and she was high and addicted to the sensation. 

The man with his dick in her mouth wasn’t interested in her thoughts and reflections, he was going to fuck her mouth and she wasn’t going to have much say in the matter.  He pushed his dick in to her mouth and he stood perfectly still.  Taja imagined that he was equally as afraid of losing an appendage as she was afraid of what he might do if she accidentally bit him.  Taja wanted to control the action, she wanted to give him a blowjob the way she wanted to do it but that was not to be.  He knew what he wanted and he communicated it to her without saying a word.  He controlled the pace; he controlled the action.  When he wanted her to lick, he pulled her head back, when he wanted her to suck, he shoved his dick in her mouth to the base.  He grabbed the back of her head and used her mouth for his pleasure.  She could feel every vein, every ridge against her tongue as he face-fucked her.  She gagged and choked as he forced the head of his erection down her throat and it seemed to turn them both on. 

Taja was enjoying the rough treatment.  She was aroused by the way this man was using her and she was stimulated by the fact that he didn’t really let her control the action.  She got into the blowjob and started trying to give him pleasure like she’d never done to anyone in the past.  It was important for her self-esteem to think of herself as an object of desire and she got into sucking and licking like never before.  It was the sloppiest, wettest, loudest blowjob she had ever given and even found herself moaning and enjoying it.  It was as if she didn’t have to pretend to be reserved anymore, like she had been conditioned to be; she could be a wanton, sexual slut, and that thought sent chills up her normally judgmental and conservative spine.  She rationalized that he was forcing her to behave in this whorish manner and she let go of whatever beliefs that told her she was being a bad girl, she wanted to be naughty and, dare she admit it, submissive.

She felt the head of his dick pounding her throat and she didn’t tense up, she went with the sensation.  He got thicker and harder in her mouth as he fucked her mouth more.  Taja’s hands were rubbing her pussy through her pants and her attacker was making noises like a wounded animal.  He grabbed her by the throat and restricted her air.  The rougher he treated her, the more moisture soaked her panties.  She was being held captive by a man she didn’t know and she was more trusting of him than she had been with all of her previous lovers. 

“Shit,” he cried out, the first word he had uttered all night, and he backed away.

Taja was dazed and caught off guard.  In the frenzy of her arousal, she had almost forgotten that he was a real individual.  Why had he stopped?  Had she done something wrong?  She hated herself for wanting him not to stop.  Had he shot his load on and not wanted to do it in her mouth?  Visions of his dick, shooting cum on the floor as he stood over her, stroking it, enraged her.  “Damn you, you son of a bitch.  Let me go, RIGHT NOW!  You’ll be sorry for this.”  She really wanted to beg for his cum in her mouth but she knew not to say another word.  She was on fire and it was impossible to deny at that point.  She began to plead with him again to let her go but in the back of her mind she wanted to experience just a little bit more erotic torture. 

He pulled her to her feet and removed her pants.  With painstaking slowness, he pulled them down over her full hips and tossed them to the side.  Taja stood motionless, afraid to move, not sure of the reasons why.  Her attacker led her to the bed and secured the handcuffs to the headboard.  She was laying face down and he made her get on her knees.  Taja was embarrassed to be so exposed, so vulnerable yet so aroused.   Again, he left her there for a few minutes in silence and in darkness. 

She felt the bed shift as he climbed on with her.  His hands began caressing her back gently, massaging her sore arm muscles again.  Everything he did, he did with such tenderness and care, and it was at that moment that she first thought that her attacker could actually be her husband.  “Phillip, is that you?  Let me go.  Stop this, this isn’t funny.” 

If it was her husband, if it was Phillip, he would surely let her go, he knew she was really in control, he knew that whatever she said was the final word.  That belief was shattered when she felt the sting of a sharp slap on her ass.  The pain rattled her sense of reality and traveled up and down her spine.  Phillip would never defy a direct order from her let alone be so aggressive.  She began to panic again.  Had she underestimated this perpetrator?  Reality sunk in and she began to sob uncontrollably.  “Please, please let me go,” she cried.

“Count,” he said.

While Taja was wondering what he intended for her to count, she felt the sharp sting of another blow on her ass.  It took of few seconds for her brain to comprehend and she was able to eek out, “One,” not sure if that was the correct response or not, just going with her gut.  He followed the slap to her ass with soft kisses to her disciplined flesh.  His hands massaged her breasts, rubbed her clit and soothed her sexy round bottom.  She felt decidedly masculine hands caress the tender flesh of her ass.  His hands were kneading her body and gently stroking her thighs and back.  His fingers separated her butt cheeks and he ran them lightly over her asshole.  Taja froze in terror.  The man responsible for her restraint then slid his fingers down to her soaking wet pussy and rubbed her swollen clit.  Taja was pissed, embarrassed, and annoyed at herself for being aroused.  She wanted and needed to regain control so she began talking again, trying to hide her true feelings, begging to be let go. 

The next blow came without warning and she cried out “Owwwww,” as tears formed in her eyes.  She remembered to say “Two,” and lay her head on the pillow as an act of exhaustion, both physical and mental.  What followed was more caressing and more spanking, more fingering and more counting, more tender touches and searing pain combined.  She felt his hands caressing the tender and heated flesh of her ass.  The more he caressed, the wetter her pussy became.  He would rub her sore nipples and spank her butt and thighs.  It was torture; erotic, sensual, heavenly torture.  Her head was reeling; it wasn’t supposed to feel pleasurable.  She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this.  The stinging was registering in her brain as bliss and she was tormented by the fact that each slap was followed by him gently rubbing her clit to near orgasm.  She began to look forward to each slap, to him bringing her closer and closer to fierce explosion every time.  By the time she got to twenty, she was experiencing each slap as pleasure, each sting was ecstasy.  Her pussy was dripping and her clit was throbbing and she was desperate to cum. 

Without warning, she felt the softness of a tongue licking her soaking wet pussy.  “Noooo, she cried out, not sure why she was saying it; she truly didn’t want him to stop.  She was trying to stop him from having more control over her and the fact that he was teasing her with such expertise.  She was pulling against her restraints, and trying to fight her own orgasm as he licked her from front to back. 

There was no stopping him; he was going to make her cum and cum hard.  She fought it with her mind but her body was betraying her intentions.  She had been so aroused for so long, she was at the brink of sensual release.  Ecstasy washed over her body and his lips gently sucked her clit as his tongue fucked her hole.  He lapped and licked, nibbled and sucked and made her grind her pussy on his face.  She moaned in the pillow and begged him not to stop. 

She felt the head of his dick rubbing her pussy.  She was beyond the point of rational thought.  Like a light switch going off in her head, she realized that the life of control and rules she had lived by were mere illusions.  She wanted to be fucked, fucked good, fucked hard, and fucked long.  She needed to be fucked.  She heard the words coming out of her mouth but they sounded like they were coming from someone else.  They sounded like they were coming from a wounded animal.  “Fuuuuuck meeeee pleeeeease.”

Time froze.  In an instant, the handcuffs were released and a small nightlight was turned on.  She could tell her captor got off the bed and stood back, waiting for her to make a move.  She kept her head in the pillow with her ass in the air, not moving an inch.  She knew she should get up and run but she couldn’t.  She wanted to turn around and see the face of her captor.  She remained frozen.  She said it again, this time aware that she could no longer claim to being forced to do anything.  “Fuck me.”

The ringing in her ears and the desperation in her wet pussy drove her to say the words that she wouldn’t have thought possible two hours earlier.  She felt the head rub from her clit to her asshole and she arched backwards, trying to get him to penetrate her.  She was desperate to feel that sensation of him hitting bottom deep inside her.  She needed to feel full with his hardness, the ecstasy that a woman can only feel when a big hard dick is filling her, stretching her, pounding her.  It was a strange twist of fate that had her craving the very sensation that she had fought all her life to deny.  She wanted to be submissive, to let go of all the stereotypes and standards that told her that she had to be a strong black woman that didn’t put up with anything, that called all the shots.  She realized that her freedom was in letting go, was in letting someone else have the reins of control and it had nothing to do with her being weak, it was simply a shift in power.  She was tired of pretending that she had to be everything to everyone, she was tired of needing to feel like a bitch.  In that moment she wanted to surrender to sensations that she had no control over and she craved that release.

“Say it again,” he said again calmly.

In a surreal declaration, she said the words that released her from her invisible bonds.  “Now! Please! Fuck me!”

With those words, he took the head of his dick and placed it at the head of her asshole.  Anal sex was something she’d done before but it had been a long time ago, with boyfriends that insisted she had to do it to prove that she loved them.  It’d been many years since she even thought about doing it and fear paralyzed her body.  She wasn’t even sure she could take it.  There was no doubt in her mind that it was going to hurt.  Why then, was her body screaming out for this stranger to do it?  She wanted to feel like she was giving him the ultimate symbol of her submission to him. 

Exquisitely slow and with exhausting skill, her captor managed to get the head inserted with no pain at all.  Taja was sweating and her musky scent was reminiscent of a wild animal but it was sexy and primal.  The fact that just the head of his dick was inside her was driving her out of her mind.  She started pushing back and driving more meat inside her backdoor.  The sensation of being filled like that was causing her to grunt and moan.  It was as if she couldn’t breath and every millimeter shoved inside her felt like miles of orgasmic pleasure.  Teeth marks were embedded in the pillowcase and her hands gripped the sheets tightly.  Through it all, he wouldn’t move and inch; he let her control the penetration.  It was only when she reached between her legs to rub her clit that she realized that he was completely buried inside her.  She’d past her threshold of pleasure and it was time for some fast and furious fucking. 

Taja had to grab the headboard to keep her head from being rammed.  In an instant, he was fucking her senseless.  She pushed back; he pumped harder.  Every inch of his dick was driven deep inside her and she adored the sensation.  Rockets went off inside her head and she was outside herself.  Taja was now another person, another woman who had no fears, no inhibitions.  She needed to get fucked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it all night long.  He grabbed her hips; she rubbed her clit.  He was moaning, she was groaning.  She came without him missing a beat and he kept fucking her through her orgasm.  Sweat formed on both of them and they grunted and groaned like wild animals.  They fucked into the night until Taja passed out from pleasure and exhaustion.

The morning came and sunlight filtered through the blinds.  Taja awoke, her arms and legs and ass were sore.  The smells of eggs and coffee were coming up the stairs.  Phillip entered the room and held out her robe.  “Breakfast is ready.” 

She stood on shaky feet, still weak from the incredible fuck she had gotten and the restraint her body had endured.  “We need to talk . . ." Her words were cut off with the familiar finger that has silenced her the night before. 

Phillip had no words to explain his behavior or his actions.  He, too, had been struggling with his perceived role as doormat versus being a “man” and he had devised this plan to show his wife who was the boss.  While he had done it for her he had come to some personal revelations of his own.  If being the boss meant that he had to be someone that was unnatural to him, he wanted no parts of that.  He stood his ground as he waited for her verbal assault, quite sure she was going to go back to full bitch mode.   

Never having had a previous occasion to be humble, Taja was rendered speechless.  Her journey to self-discovery started with a paralyzing fear and ended with a frightening revelation.  She let Phillip help her on with her robe.  She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her.  She’d lost a piece of herself and found it in losing control.  There was no turning back, only relinquishing old beliefs in a strange twist of fate.


Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK