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.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Seeking Vibrational Balance

I’m looking for connection with men who are my equals: mentally, spiritually, intellectually, physically, emotionally, socially, and sexually.

Mentally – You despise the N word, carry yourself with integrity, character, and grace, actively seek to continually free yourself from the mental chains of slavery. You accept that you still have healing to do, hate commercial radio, TV, and movies, be voluntarily simplistic, environmentally conscious, have an abhorrence of corporate America, non-materialistic, extremely liberal political position, non-conformist, down-to-earth, family-centric, creative, artistic

Spiritually – You practice something other than Christianity, Islam, or Judaism, You practice metaphysical, Kemetic, or African based spirituality, meditate daily, seek harmony and balance with the universe, and are prayerful.

Intellectually – You are able to grasp complex intellectual concepts, logical, methodical, linear yet abstract, cerebral, able to see things from multiple perspectives, have a high IQ, are a seeker of knowledge, able to teach concepts to the masses in an easily digestible manner.
Physically – You are tall, active, fit, attractive, live off a plant-based diet, and respect holistic, natural cures over Western medicine

Emotionally – You have faced your inner demons, dealt with the issues that have hurt you, are introspective, emotionally mature, slow to anger, at peace, centered, calm, serene, rational, compassionate, considerate of other’s feelings, selfless, able to articulate your feelings, respectful of other’s feelings, and you are completely capable of giving and receiving unconditional love in a healthy manner.

Socially – You are a leader, enjoy jazz, live music, art, cultural events, appreciate good food and socializing with a variety of friends. Respect Black art, don’t watch much TV, concerned about lifting the consciousness of the Black community.

Sexually – You are openly bisexual and proud of it, capable of monogamy in a relationship, sex-positive and tolerant of everyone’s sexual preferences, sensual, romantic, tactile, and AfroerotiK.
If that sounds like you, I’d love to just converse.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Who's got Jungle Fever?

This was perhaps, the most difficult story I’ve ever written. No, this was, by far, without a doubt, the hardest story I’ve ever written. It challenged me in ways that no other story has even come close to doing.

I got the idea to write a story about a black man and a white woman because my repertoire is dangerously light on that theme. I have a ton of stories about white men with Black women, mostly driven by the fact that white men request interracial stories, NOT because that’s a preference of mine. In each of those stories, whether it be romantic or about domination, I make sure I show Black women in a healthy, positive, empowered light. They are never ghetto whores, or blinded by the mystical allure of interracial lust, they are in charge, intelligent, articulate women of color who are autonomous and, in some cases, dangerously efficient at manipulating the desires of white men. In most cases, people aren’t even aware enough to notice the social commentary; they just fast forward to the sex or they only absorb the story on a very superficial level.

Because I don’t have many stories about black men and white women, I decided to tackle it head on. My first inclination was to make it a romantic story and I almost wish I had. That would have been easier for me I’m sure. I could have written a story where the characters would just happen to be different colors and I could have made their choice to date interracially not one driven by stereotypes and racist beliefs but of two people with common interests who felt an attraction for one another. What do they say, always go with your first instinct?

When I sat down to write this particular story, I was overwhelmed with the need to address the large portion of Black men who date interracially and address some of the reasons they do so. They are the least culturally conscious so they are the last group of people to understand their motivations or be able to articulate them. They are also the demographic least likely to read a story of mine. So starting off, I was writing a story about a segment of the population who wasn’t even going to read it. That’s difficult for me because of the customized nature of my work. My goal in writing usually is to arouse the reader of my story and I knew from the beginning that if Black men who did date and fuck white women were to read the story, the things I wrote about in the story would offend them.

Then, I had to take into consideration that the demographic who WAS going to be reading the story the most was white men. They seek out erotic stories about Black men and white women more than any other audience. The vast majority of white men are oblivious to any reality other than their own so I had to choose every single word carefully. I had to put myself in the mindset of a white man who was going to be reading the story and try my best to educate them but also remember that most of what I was saying was going to go WAY over their heads. They weren’t going to be reading the story and taking away from it the more important messages of how dysfunctional most interracial sex really is. All they were going to be doing would be masturbating to the story, more than likely just skipping ahead to the sex parts. Still, I wanted to write a story that would give the few that were cognizant enough to pick up on the underlying themes something to think about.

Black people in general, unfortunately, in many instances, don’t look deeper than the superficial when reading my stories. So again, I’m faced with trying to educate people who were only going to take away from the story the concept that a Black man was saying he hated Black women, and that he was only attracted to white women, and not get the how’s and why’s of how that mindset was really formed in a lot of Black men. More importantly, I knew the vast majority of Black readers were going to see that behavior as merely self-hatred, not a manifestation of slave mentality that has gone un-addressed and unchecked for generations. For all of our flaws and shortcomings, being a victim to mindsets we learned in slavery that have been passed down for generations is not our fault. That doesn’t mean they are acceptable or excusable, it just means they need to be examined and healed.

This very well could be a true story. The characters were not atypical or unique in the fact that they did anything extraordinary; they were average. If you go into a racially mixed club in any town in America, you could see the characters of this story in real life. The things they said were things that have been repeated time and time again by real people, in similar situations. The numbers of Black men who date and/or fuck white women exclusively continues to grow by leaps and bounds, fueled by white America’s lust for the black male body (including the perpetuation of the Mandingo myth), a social climate where any discussion of race other than, “Color doesn’t matter,” is silenced, and racism that eats at the self-esteem of Black men whereby they feel as Darren felt.

Jenny wasn’t bright. One can only assume her attractiveness was the kind that can be found in any Hooter’s restaurant or a Girls Gone Wild video. Her commentary on race was cliché. Her need to be degraded and treated like a slut is symptomatic of a society that has raised a generation of girls to believe that their attractiveness is their only value in life.

Darren’s perceptions on race were formed by racism. For a child, being in an environment where your peers aren’t sensitive to race, where there is no racial tolerance, where Black children are in the minority, and being raised by parents who are trying to instill in them to deny their blackness, it becomes easy to see how self hatred could fester and grow in the mind of a young child. We live in a society that doesn’t show Black women as attractive and then we expect Black men to see them as such when ALL they’ve been shown are images of white women and told how beautiful they are. Black boys see countless images of white women. The first sexual images they see are more than likely going to be in Playboy or Penthouse and be of white women, so logically, their arousal is going to be tied to white women. Yes, Darren was self-hating, but I tried my best to show how he came to be. Well, I did the best I could in a story that was supposed to be erotic.

The entire first half of the story was dedicated to the examination of race in this society. Then, I transition by saying, “An intelligent person might want to contemplate what made this privileged, twenty-something white girl, who had never had a responsibility in her life, crave being used like a fucking rag doll by black men while spewing the most vile racist epithets . . . but who has time for such cerebral musings?” That creates the shift. Then the story becomes hardcore. The sex is visceral and raw, abusive even. It speaks to the way racist white men want to see white women treated by black men and, I can only assume, the ways in which interracial couples who are driven by racist fantasies might interact sexually. I had difficulty writing the sex portion, which is usually the easiest part for me, so I took the sex from another story and just changed the names. I was literally drained by writing the first half of the story to the point where constructing the sex scene was beyond my capabilities.

I’m proud of the finished product in a way that I’d love to see the story examined in a college class on race or debated and discussed in an academic setting. For now, I’ll have to be satisfied knowing that somewhere, someone might read it and walk away with a better understanding of the intricacies of race and sexuality.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Catering to a Man’s Ego

I was asked to be a participant in a group chat the other evening. The participants included four women and one man. They were talking about, and all in agreement with, how there are certain instances when a woman has to cater to a man’s ego. In fact, they said that if a woman didn’t cater to a man’s ego, that made her a bad woman. When I spoke up in dissention, they got offended, saying that I wasn’t being supportive of Black men and insisting that men were fragile and needed their egos stroked in order to function properly. Catering to a man’s ego and being supportive are two different things.

Catering to a man’s ego is to allow him to continue to hold on to dysfunctional beliefs and practices in order to make him feel good. Being supportive is helping him grow, mature, and being there to be a shoulder to cry on in his hour of need. Being loving is showing affection and nurturing him because you care about him, his happiness, and his well-being as a person. To cater to a man’s ego is to feed his insecurities, to foster dysfunction in your relationship, and to perpetuate unhealthy ideologies.

The example was given that if a man lost his job, that before they go out to dinner the woman should give him the money to hold in order to allow him to pay for the meal in public. How absurd. If a man loses his job, and he can’t deal with a woman paying for dinner, then he’s emotionally immature. Moreover, in order for a woman to be supportive and loving, rather than catering to his male ego, she would be better off helping him work on his resume, emailing him job opportunities that match his needs, or taking that money and having his suit dry cleaned or doing administrative work to help him start his own business.

We live in a society where the male ego has gone rampant and unchecked. It needs to be reigned in. It needs to be harnessed and controlled in order to move the emotional maturity of Black men ahead. We, as Black women, MUST stop catering to a man’s ego. Black men are egotistical, expecting women to cower at their whim, jump through hoops in order to satisfy their needs, and blaming Black women for all sorts of things without taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings and misperceptions. The fact that we, as a society, equate a woman’s worth with her ability to appease a man’s ego speaks volumes about how diseased we are.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Jungle Fever

Darren was a brotha on a mission. It was Friday night and the club lights were coming up and it was time to take someone home and this white chick he’d been talking to didn’t even put up the pretense of playing hard to get. Darren had more than Jungle Fever; he had Sub-Saharan Tropical Rain Forest Malaria and slutty white girls were his penicillin. The object of his affection smelled of beer, cigarettes, and hair spray. Her drug-store eyeliner was smudged and all that was left of her lipstick was a barely detectable line of equally cheap, pink lip-liner framing her thin lips. The rest of her lipstick was adorning the six or seven bottles of beer she’d consumed. Her name was Jeannie . . . Janey . . . Jenny, something like that, but her name really didn’t matter to him. She was so wasted, he could have called her Matilda and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She grabbed her purse and air kissed the girlfriends she had gotten a ride with goodbye and trailed behind Darren, stumbling and teetering on her cheap heels, completely comfortable leaving with a total stranger she’d only met an hour ago.

Darren held her arm, making sure she wouldn’t fall and bust her ass. When they got outside to his truck, he had to hold her blonde hair back from her face as she blew big chunks in the parking lot. Better projectile vomit there than in his vehicle. Behind the tinted windows and feeling better having relieved herself of some of that alcohol, she started chatting away. “Turn on the radio. Ohhhh, 50cent, I LOVVVE him. He’s so gangsta. You know what I mean? Keeping it real. From the streets. Word. Me and my girlfriends would love to just hang out with him and his homies, ya know?” She turned up the radio as loud as it would go and leaned out the window like she was a Crip in South Central. Never mind the fact that the closest she’d ever been to any hood was getting lost in Hartford once and driving into an area where she felt like she had to lock her doors. “And his wife Beyonce is so pretty right? She’s got a real badunkkadunk. She’s got some junk in the trunk, you know what I’m saying? Drop it like it’s hot. Drop it like it’s hot. Black women have the best asses. I wish I had a big ole booty like black women.”

Darren was concentrating on the drive home. He contemplated telling her that Beyonce was married to Jay-Z, not 50cent, but what was more important to address was the fact that she had struck a nerve with him and he had to set her straight. “I don’t like those big, jungle butts. Fuckin’ black chicks wit their Ubangie butts ‘n shit, n’ big lips n’ shit. Fuck dat. Gorilla lookin’ bitches . . ." He was hardly finished detailing what he considered the many repulsive features of Black women but Jenny passed out somewhere in the middle of his diatribe.

She woke up and continued on with her conversation like she hadn’t missed a beat. “What do you do? I go to school at Stamford. I’m studying to be a whatchamacallit, a anthropologist, they study people, you know what I’m saying? I really want to be a interior designer or a makeup artist but my parents made me take anthropologism. It totally sucks. What do you do? Are you a drug dealer? You look like this guy I fucked once who was a drug dealer. He had some awesome X, dude. God, his cock was huge. Black guys are really packing. I only fuck black guys, you know what I’m saying? You know what they say, ‘Once you go black you never go back.’ Black guys are the bomb in bed. Man, I swear if my dad ever found out that I was fucking niggers . . . oops, sorry, I mean niggazz, you now what I’m saying, he would kill me.” Jenny’s penchant for talking without caring if the other person contributed or not, heightened by her inebriation, didn’t seem to bother Darren one teeny, tiny, little bit. He wasn’t even particularly disturbed by the fact that her “hood” vernacular came directly from MTV or that she had stereotyped him as a degenerate. He thought she was hot and that was all he cared about.

They arrived at Darren’s apartment in no time at all. It was a fairly decent complex with a pretty diverse group of residents, not too extravagant, certainly not the ghetto. They pulled into the parking lot in front of his building and Jenny couldn’t wait to get things started. The second Darren turned off the engine, she dove for his cock. She didn’t mind the taste of another woman’s pussy on his dick, or at least she didn’t say that she did, because Darren had fucked some random bitch in the bathroom at the club for a hot minute. It had been just long enough to get his dick wet but not enough to cum, so he was ready for some head and then some hot pussy. Jenny didn’t disappoint. She sucked his cock like a porn star, gagging on it and deep throating it, spitting on it and begging to get her face fucked, all while still in the front seat of his car.

It was time for them to get more comfortable so he pushed her away, with some difficulty mind you, she was really intent on giving him head, and zipped up. True to the nature of most drunken white girls, Jenny felt the need to flash her tits to the world in the cool night air. Some old white dude had paid good money for her brand new 38DD’s in exchange for the opportunity to eat her pussy any time he called and she was damn proud to show them off whenever the mood hit her. “Yeah, you like my hot, fucking tits, Derrick? Woo Hoo!” If she’d been on the beach in Daytona during Spring Break, it might have been appropriate. At 2:30 in the morning in a residential apartment complex in Connecticut, it was rude and inconsiderate. And apparently, knowing his name wasn’t a priority to her either.

The lights in the first floor apartment came on with all the commotion and Darren quickly grabbed Jenny by the arm and quickly pulled her towards the stairs to his second-story walk up. His downstairs neighbor was used to being awakened by Darren and his endless string of trampy white women in the middle of the night.

“Quiet down,” he said, “that fucking bitch who lives downstairs from me is always giving me dirty looks. She’s just fucking jealous I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.”

“YEAH, FUCKING JEALOUS CUNT BITCH!” Jenny yelled into the night towards the complete stranger’s apartment. “I’m going to get this big, fucking, black cock and you won’t get any, you ugly whore.”

Darren’s downstairs neighbor was neither ugly nor was she a whore. She was a quiet, attractive, young Black woman who was far more tolerant as a neighbor than most people would have been. She never called the cops or anything but she didn’t bake cookies for him at Christmas either. Darren hated her with a passion because he just knew that every time she looked at him that she was judging him for dating white women exclusively. It really didn’t matter that he was completely fabricating her thoughts in his mind. He especially couldn’t stand the sight of her because she wore her hair in dreadlocks and he thought it was just plain stupid to wear a hairstyle that reminded the whole world that her hair was nappy and ugly. He kept his own head shaved bald so he didn’t have to answer questions from girls about his own particularly dense hair texture.

Darren had never, not once in his life, dated a Black woman. From the time he was in the first grade, he wanted to sit next to the white girls, just like all the women he saw on TV. When all the little white boys on his little league team were making fun of him, making a game out of calling him the various racial slurs they’d learned from their older brothers and neighborhood friends, he learned then that being white was better than being black. In his little adolescent mind, he wished he could be white. He knew he couldn’t but as long as white girls liked him, he felt validation. He especially hated black girls because they reminded him that he would always be those names the other boys called him. In high school he was a jock and he played sports year round in order to be with all the cheerleaders. In his predominately white college, he was the campus stud, having white girls line up in the dorm hallway to swing on his Mandingo cock. He made it known to the few black girls on campus that even an ugly white girl was WAY better than any black girl. He didn’t like the fat ones so much, but he’d rather have a slutty looking white girl to bang than a black chick any day of the week.

Now that he was a productive member of the community, holding down a job as a fireman, he had plenty of Black male friends, all of whom only dated white women coincidentally. He stayed as far away from Black women as he possibly could. He thought Black women were ugly, loud, unsupportive, sassy, and stupid. The KKK could have used him as a spokesperson when it came to his opinion of black women. He’d never even so much as had a conversation with a Black woman other than his mother and his sister, let alone dated one, so he had no way of knowing what Black women were really like. Assured that there wasn’t a burglar breaking in or that no one needed assistance, his downstairs neighbor turned off her light just as the pair passed her front door and Darren said in a voice loud enough to make sure she heard, “Black bitch.”

That inspired Jenny to give her little speech about race, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. “What the fuck is her problem? Doesn’t she know color doesn’t matter? Geez, Martin Luther King said that thing about . . . you know . . . about how color doesn’t matter. I’m not racist. I only fuck Black cocks. Get over it you fucking jungle bunny, slavery was over a long time ago.” It was pretty much assured that Jenny wouldn’t be getting a job doing diversity or sensitivity training upon graduation.

Once inside his sparsely furnished apartment, Jenny wanted the party to start. “You got any meth? I need something to keep my buzz going. Fuck, I need a drink really bad.” She started pulling off her denim mini skirt, g-string, and top, of course, leaving on her heels, and started posing like Paris Hilton at a photo shoot. “Hey,” she said with a flash of drunken brilliance, “why don’t you call some of your friends over and we can all party, you know what I’m saying, and get really freaky. I need some fucking black horse cock rammed in me. Gangbang style, you know what I’m saying? I swear, I’m such a fucking slut, right?”

Darren handed her a glass of straight vodka and she downed it in one gulp. He ignored her question about calling some friends because he wanted her all to himself. He wanted to prove to her that he was all the savage beast she needed. He was going to blow her back out with all eight, thick, ebony inches of his equipment. He was certainly larger than average by every calculation and most white guys would KILL to have a cock as big as his, but he felt insecure because he didn’t have a 12 inch dick and he didn’t need the completion.

His bedroom was just as desolate as the rest of the apartment, with only a mattress on the floor; two pillows and filthy sheets that looked like they had been screwed on a few times too many that were crumpled up in the corner. Darren pushed her down roughly but that was okay with her. Jenny wanted to play and play hard so she made it known. “Come on, fuck this dirty white cunt. You love this nasty white pussy, don’t you?” She spread her legs and bared her bald slit. At 5’3” and a couple of ounces shy of anorexic, she looked like the pre-teen she was trying to emulate with her shaved twat. With the exception of her massive fake tits, she couldn’t didn’t have enough meat on her to cover her rib cage or hipbones.

She rammed three fingers in her loose, sloppy twat and started fucking herself. She shoved those same fingers in her mouth and sucked them, tasting her juices but more importantly, getting them wet so she could shove them in her asshole. Flipping over on her knees, she rammed her fingers in her ass. Ray Charles could see that she had fisted her own ass numerous times in the past, or at least someone had fisted her, considering the ease with which she took those three fingers. She made a show of licking her ass juice off her fingers and ramming them back up her asshole a few times. “Oh yeah, I want you to fuck my tiny white asshole too, ram your big, black cock up there.”

Darren didn’t want be on deck anymore, it was time for his turn at bat. He took off his clothes and climbed on top of her. They kissed, swapping spit and tongues. Her thin, non-existent lips, in comparison to his full, sensual lips, were ideal to him. He liked anything that wasn’t like him. He loved her pointy, pug nose, her stringy, dyed blonde hair felt luxurious in his tight grasp, her pale skin that was now red with arousal looked erotic next to his own, smooth chocolate skin. Having a flat ass was WAY better in his mind than having a butt that looked like it belonged on an African savage swinging from the trees. His dick couldn’t get hard unless he saw the contrast in skin color.

Fantasies fueled by race ignited his desires. He found it erotic to think of himself as a slave on the plantation, taking the slave master’s wife. With that one single act of fucking her, he became the untamed Mandingo buck, getting his chance at the desirable white woman. He was the mack-daddy pimp, owning the white whore. Name a racist stereotype and it was sure to get his dick hard. He was proving to those white boys on the baseball field who were all grown up now that he was just as good as them because he could fuck any white woman he wanted. And when he finally got one knocked up, he was going to have kids that would never remind him that he was a descendent of cotton picking, illiterate slaves who were the victims of slavery, not sexually aroused by it. Color mattered to Darren because to him, his identity, his sexuality, his entire reality was tied to the fact that he believed with all his heart that white women were better. Moreover, he believed that being with a white woman made him better.

Jenny was getting her own jungle fever needs filled as well. Fucking black guys was dirtier than fucking white guys. Fucking black guys was beneath her, so that made it more thrilling. Most of her girlfriends knew the real deal but there were still a few holdouts that thought it was nasty to let a black guy touch them. It was her mission to convert them to nasty sluts for Black cock whenever she could so that they could enjoy the sensation of being a dirty, filthy nigger-loving whore. And as long as she said, “I’m not racist,” after the fact, it didn’t bother her at all that she never saw Black men as real human beings, just studs with oversized genitalia to service her insatiable appetite for extreme and perverse levels of degradation and abuse.

An intelligent person might want to contemplate what made this privileged, twenty-something white girl, who had never had a responsibility in her life, crave being used like a fucking rag doll by black men while spewing the most vile racist epithets . . . but who has time for such cerebral musings?

For all of his admiration and love for white women outside the bedroom, when it came time to fucking, he couldn’t degrade them enough. Jenny wasted no time in getting between his legs and giving him head. She grabbed his erection and started stroking it, making it leak precum. She licked the salty treat and told him how good he tasted. She took the head in her mouth and swirled her tongue around it and Darren could barely control himself. She went down on it slowly, licking and sucking with painstaking precision. She was getting every black inch wet with her mouth and tongue and sucking it expertly with her lips. Jenny was moaning and slobbering all over his dick like a cock-craved whore and fingering her pussy at the same time. Darren grabbed her semi-golden hair and twisted it in his hand and shoved her mouth down on his dick, making her choke and gag. He held her head down and she thought she was going to pass out. That made her pussy leak even more. He fucked her throat hard and deep, not caring at all about if she was experiencing pain, and she was. He gave her enough time to gasp for air and he began fucking her mouth harder slapping her face and calling her a stupid cunt.

Jenny wanted more. She wanted to taste his cum and she didn't care how Darren treated her. She was looking him in his eyes and asking him if he liked it. Darren was out of his mind; it was sensory overload. She focused on sucking the engorged vein on the underside of his dick and it allowed him to calm down enough to regain normal control of his breathing. The room was spinning and it felt like it was 100 degrees in there. She started humming on his dick, sending vibrations up his spine and talking dirty. She was proving herself to be a filthy nasty slut desperate for cum and abuse from any black man that would fuck her senseless.

“You like my mouth on your hard cock? Treat me like a filthy white whore; it makes me feel good when you say nasty things to me. Treat me like a dirty white slut. Use me. Use me with your superior black cock.”

He grabbed her head one last time and started moving it up and down on his dick, fucking her throat like she was a rag doll. Jenny gagged but it only seemed to inspire her to be that much nastier. It seemed she couldn’t get it wicked enough, she was in a zone where she wanted to be debased and used like a cheap prostitute. She was deep throating him and stroking him and licking his balls. The raunchier she got, the more she needed verbal stimulation.

“Come on you fucking white cunt, suck my fat dick. Show me what a slut you are for that fuck meat in your slutty mouth. Choke on my hard dick bitch. Look at you, you fucking filthy cocksucker. Suck my god damn cum out of my big hairy balls. Lick that fuck tool real good and get it nice and wet so I can ram it in your wet pussy. Yeah, I’m going to fuck you senseless. Is that what you want? You want me to ram this big hard black cock in you so hard you scream like it’s going to rip you apart? What sort of nasty whore gets off on sucking my dick like that? Maybe I will bring all my friends by and let them take turns using your body and they can pay me for the chance to ram their big black dicks in your nasty asshole, pussy and mouth,” he taunted her. “You'd like that wouldn't you? Sucking all those hard black cocks after they fuck you in the ass? You like that you dirty slut?"

Jenny wasn’t satisfied, she wanted more and she wasn’t afraid to go for it. She was in a sexual fog, a lust inspired by the fulfillment of her nasty dreams and she started screaming for him to use her, not caring if the upstairs, downstairs or next door neighbors heard her. “I want more. I want to show you how REALLY nasty white cunts are.” She got between his legs and lifted them up. He knew he hadn’t showered for more than 12 hours and his ass was ripe with sweat and musk. Jenny seemed to not notice or care one little bit. She seemed to delight in looking at the brown hole and Darren was pushing out, making it open and close for her. “Oooooh, talk really, really dirty to me, make me feel like a nasty whore.”

Darren didn’t hesitate for a second. “Oh yeah, eat my dirty asshole. Stick your tongue in there and lick it out good, Get it nice and clean like a good slut should. Taste that hole you and lick it good and deep.”

She didn’t waste a second and started licking and kissing and sucking his brown hole. There weren’t many things Darren loved more than a tongue in his ass and he was grinding his ass on her face and pulling his cheeks apart so she could get deep. Jenny looked up at him and stared straight in his eyes as she said, “Mmmm, I love the way your ass tastes. It makes my slutty white pussy so wet to know that I’m being such a dirty whore for you.” Then she went back to her feast, sucking Darren’s asshole like a woman possessed. The filthy nature of her words and actions, he thought, was the way sex was supposed to be: primal and raw, animalistic and dirty. She was in sexual nirvana. Darren held his legs wider as he enjoyed the sensation of his sexy white bitch making a feast of his ass.

Jenny loved every second of it and she wanted more. This was the treatment she craved, being treated like a depraved and perverted white whore and who better to do that than the sexy black god with a smooth brown body, rippling muscles, a juicy booty and a dick of death? Darren had to stop for a minute and wonder exactly what sort of limits this white bitch had if any and the idea of how filthy could get almost made him work a load up from his nuts.

There was no need for pretense because Jenny was a woman that needed to get fucked and fucked hard. She was desperate to feel every inch of that hard meet rammed in her cunt walls and she needed him to do it hard and fast and rough like only he could. He grabbed her hair and pulled it like reigns on a philly. She responded by chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, NOW!”

Darren took careful aim. He lined up the fat head of his dick with her slutty hole. He grabbed her hips and with one fluid, fast motion, he rammed the entire length of his dick deep in her uterus. She screamed out in pain but that didn’t stop her from begging for more. Darren began fucking Jenny with his force and she took it all and begged for more. He worked his thumb up her ass and she started using her muscles to coax out another load of cum. He started smacking that pale ass and reached around to her huge tits. He mauled her tits, pinching her nipples and causing her to moan. He squeezed her inflated chest so fucking hard she was surely going to have bruises the next day. He pulled them and twisted them with his dark fingers and she encouraged him to do it harder. “Pull my fucking nipples black mother fucker. Make them hurt. Slap them. Ohhh, it feels so good.”

Jenny was fucking him back extraordinarily hard, grunting and snorting like a crazed animal. “I need what every filthy white slut can’t get enough of. I need you to fuck me in my nasty asshole. Please? Fuck my white ass with your big, black cock.”

He pulled out of her pussy and saw her juices all over his erection. She had taken his finger with no problem so he spit on her asshole and started to work more fingers in. “Damn you Darren, ram it in there and make it hurt. I don’t want you to give a damn about me, use my asshole, rip it apart. Shoot your cum deep in my ass. Make me cum from dicking my shithole and then make me lick your dirty cock clean.”

“You fucking bitch, you asked for it. I don’t want you to complain one little bit that it hurts either. You better beg for more. I want you screaming and begging me to fuck the shit out of you, for me to never stop, you hear?”

“What are you waiting for? Slam it up my ass. Fuck this slutty white bitch in her backdoor. What’s the matter? Afraid my tight little ass will make you nut too fast? Yeah, it takes a real man to handle a hot, sexy hole like this, not a little boy.” Her teasing had one objective, to ensure that Darren fucked her until he fucked her unconscious.

The head of Darren’s dick didn’t even look like it could fit in such a small hole. He held his dick still as he pushed the tip in. Jenny gasped for air and gripped the sheets tightly, sweat was forming on her body and she was in agony and ecstasy. The sensation of Jenny’s tight ass ring on the shaft of his member was so intense, he was sweating trying to work all 8 inches in and he didn’t understand how she could even take it all so easily. Jenny took control and started fucking him back. “Fuck my naughty asshole, make me a bad girl. Make me crave getting used by big black cock in my asshole. Make sure I never want white cocks again.”

Darren grabbed her hips and started pounding. Jenny lowered her head and stuck her ass up in the air so the last few inches could get the right angle and sink deep in her ass. Darren could smell the earthy, strong aroma of ass fucking and it was intoxicating. Jenny was moaning loader, begging for it harder. Ass fucking was supposed to be dirty and primal and filthy in every way and Jenny and Darren were two untamed wild animals that were lost in debauchery and pleasure. Jenny had craved the sensation of losing herself to a man completely and she started to cum. It was a mental orgasm, a freedom from society and rules and inhibitions.

“Oh shit, I’m going to cum. Fuck the shit out of me. Shoot your cum deep in me. Empty your nuts in my slutty white asshole. Make me shit out your baby juice all night long.”

Darren grabbed her hips and started ramming himself deeper and harder, practically ramming Jenny’s head in the wall. “OHHHH FUCK! Take it whore, take my load.” He pulled out and shot his load in her mouth and Jenny sucked every drop of his sticky, sweet cum. He pushed her down on the bed and wiped his dick off on the sheets in the corner.

When all was said and done, it was just another typical Friday night for Darren. He would drop her off in the morning and they would exchange numbers like they were really going to keep in touch with each other. Next week, there would be another slutty white woman in his bed, whose name he might or might not remember, begging him to use her, fulfilling her dark-continent fantasies.

Copyright AfroerotiK 2008

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Sucking your Dick

Your hands reach out to caress my face and I stop you. I grab your wrists and I pull them behind you. Obviously, your strength could overpower mine, so your restraint is symbolic to say the least. In fact, you voluntarily hold you hands behind your back as an indication of your submission to me. I place my hand at the base of your dick. I survey my prize. My lips gently kiss the tip and I hear an intake of breath. I take my finger and slide it back and forth over the moisture that has collected at the tip.

Sucking my finger for good measure, I look deep in your eyes. Starting at the base of your dick, I slowly lick you. Soft and gentle. I use my tongue to get your dick wet. I gently squeeze your dick to make sure you remember that I am in control. I lick every inch of steely resolve. I use my tongue to paint pleasure all the way up the shaft. I lick the head. “That’s OK baby, let it out,” I say. Your breathing gets louder.

I slide the head between my lips and suck you gently. I concentrate on licking and sucking the head for several minutes. I grab the base of your dick again and start drawing you in my mouth. I slide my lips all the way down. Back and forth, up and down, you are moaning now. I have made your dick so wet, that it glistens in the candlelight. My mouth envelops you. I use my lips to pleasure you, my tongue to torture. I slide your dick deep in my mouth and stop for a brief second.

You are completely consumed, until I slide my mouth even further down your dick and the head of your dick penetrates the back of my throat. “Oh shit,” you scream and I feel your knees buckle. I start fingering your balls and sucking you, blowing you, licking you. Harder and faster, I take you deeper, higher. I want more. You need it. I’m so hungry for your passion. I stop for just a second to ask you if you like it and all you can say is, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

The Making of a White Sissy Slut

When he replied to my ad online, Steven said he was an attractive, 30-something, successful white man who was willing to explore the wild side. When we met in person, I was more than a little bit disappointed. Attractive was a stretch of the imagination and I told him so right off the bat. He acted as if I’d said something to offend him and responded by saying, “Well, no one’s ever told me that I was unattractive.” When I suggested that was because no one had had the occasion to be brutally honest with him, he got visibly pissed off and blurted out, “Well, my mom thinks . . .” and caught himself before he said something that made him look like a total, pathetic loser.

Truth be told, Steven wasn’t gruesome; he was merely average. Average for a white boy unfortunately is just shy of ugly. Thin lips, pasty skin, thinning hair, non-descript features, he was nothing to write home about. I had plans to change that. The ad to which he replied was a proposition to completely transform a white boy into a sexy, desirable, cross-dressing, sissy, and insatiable, cum-crazed whore for black cock. I didn’t pull any punches and he knew what he was in for so there was no reason to play games. I didn’t have much to work with from the beginning but at least he wasn’t fat and out of shape. I’d had less to work with in the past so he wasn’t my greatest challenge.

I took him back to my loft and told him to strip. He’d lied in his response by saying that his cock was just a little over 6 inches. I made him stand in the center of the room, completely naked, and I sensually stroked his cock for less than a minute until he was whimpering and biting his lip, trying to keep from cumming. I took out my ruler and placed it at the base of his cock and told him to tell me EXACTLY how much his worthless, pathetic cock actually measured. He mumbled something incoherent.

“Listen you little worm. I said TELL ME HOW MUCH YOUR LITTLE CLITTY REALLY MEASURES.” His face became reddened and he looked angry and broken at the same time. I continued to stroke his cock and I could tell that he was on the verge of shooting his load. Tears were forming in his eyes.

“Five,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, choking back the tears.

It wasn’t even a full five inches but I’d accomplished my mission. He was humiliated. “You can’t expect to please a woman with that. That’s pathetic. You have no choice, you have to be transformed into a cross-dressing, sissy whore so you’ll never have to annoy women with your worthless attempt at fucking again. I’m going to make sure your pussy is your only source of sexual satisfaction. I’m going to turn you into a woman, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you move, the very way you think is going to be that of a woman. You will be a lady in the streets and a filthy, nasty, cum dump in the sheets. Your pussy will throb and get so horny you will actually think it’s getting wet and you will be desperate to get fucked by the biggest, blackest, hardest pricks you can find. He moaned out loud as his cum dribbled from his cock, barely enough to be considered a spurt, let alone a blast.

Over the next three months, I trained him. I caged his cock in a chastity device and he was denied the right to cum. I had his body waxed and he was as smooth as silk. Lessons consisted of teaching him how to walk like a woman, how to hold his hands, and how to cross his legs and be sophisticated in public. I also trained him in ways to drive a man crazy by spreading his legs wide and begging for hard dick in his slutty cunt in private.

He was a very good student. I could see the changes taking place before my very eyes. When he did well, I would reward him by strapping on a 10 inch black dildo and fucking him while he looked at pictures of gorgeous Black men with enormous cocks and he told me out loud how much he lived to worship them. For punishment, when he would do something wrong, or simply for my amusement, I would wrap my hands around his neck and choke him, telling him that I was going to make him suck off a white man if he didn’t learn to behave. Cutting off his air supply, I would tell him that white men were arrogant, repulsive, ignorant assholes and that if he didn’t do as I told him, I was going to make him put their nasty, pitiful small cocks in his mouth until they came and that he would never earn the right to suck off a Black man’s gorgeous, manly cock. Just as he was about to pass out, I would release my grip and he would cry like a baby hysterically on the floor, begging me never to make him do something so disgusting, confessing that he hated white men and never wanted to touch them or be touched by them.

At four months, he was passable enough that we could go out shopping together as girls, and he was already turning heads of men and didn’t even realize it. Even in his regular clothes, he was becoming feminine; he spoke with a gentle demeanor, and showed none of the signs of arrogance of when we first met. He was an expert at applying his makeup and the expensive wigs we purchased for him looked 100% real. He learned quickly to point out cheap and trashy cross dressers and their lame attempts to get off by shocking unsuspecting sales clerks in lingerie stores. We shopped in expensive boutiques and he had quite a collection of heels, stockings, lingerie, and dresses.

Orgasm denial was taking a toll on him because it was month five when he began to beg for release, to practice his newly learned deep-throating skills on a real cock. He endured the discomfort of saline injections to increase his bust size and he marveled at the way his new, full tits looked in his lacy bras, bustiers, and corsets. He especially loved when I would apply nipple clamps and twist and pull his nipples while calling him a filthy white whore. Previously a work-a-holic, wearing men’s clothing felt unnatural to him and now he would find excuses to work from home or leave work early so he could get home and put on his satin and silk and feel like his true self. He would beg me to let him eat my pussy, but I told him he wasn’t allowed because he could only have superior black cocks in his mouth. Steven the male was no longer; he was a distant memory. Stacy was born anew, a woman in every sense of the word.

I planned Stacy’s coming out party for exactly six months from the day we met. I had to admit, she was gorgeous. Even I didn’t think she was capable of such an extreme makeover. That average looking white boy I met so long ago was now a stunning, beautiful white woman whose smoky seductive eyes could captivate, whose collagen-enriched, full lips were inviting to the hardest of cocks, and whose hips swayed sensually when she gracefully walked in her expensive stilettos. There wasn’t a detail I left to chance. Her hands were perfectly manicured, not with garish fake claws but with an elegant clear polish. She wore a simple diamond band on the ring finger of her left hand, not as a symbol of our marriage, but as a symbol of her devotion to me for allowing her to become the cum hungry whore who dwelt inside her.

I’d invited four of the most hung Black men I knew to her party. They’d been to a couple of my events before and they knew the deal. They were to treat the slut as harsh and as rough as they could as long as she didn’t utter her safe word. I’d kept the party attendees a secret, Stacy didn’t know how many or who, she just knew that her asspussy was going to be truly satisfied for the first time in her life.

Stacy sat at her dressing table, applying the last little bit of her makeup, her hands shaking. She looked at me through the mirror and said softly, “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been freed from a prison of lies and masquerading. It makes me sick to think of what I used to be. I know that I’m supposed to be a white bitch for black cocks now, I know that I was born to be a sissy slut.”

Tears were forming in her eyes and I stopped her. “Stop with the waterworks sweetie, you’ll ruin your makeup. Just go out there and make me proud.” She stood up and I made her turn around for me. She was breathtaking. I applied pressure to her shoulder and she bent forward for me without me having to ask. I pulled up the hem of her skirt and bared her pussy. I’d inserted a large, black butt plug in her earlier in the day and I pulled it out as it made a lewd and nasty plopping sound as Stacy moaned and wiggled her ass at the empty feeling. Her cunt was tight and ready. I wiped the excess lube away and finally handed her the key to the chastity device.

“Here, you do it for me, please. I can’t . . . I’m . . . You were right all along. My clitty is worthless and I should be ashamed I ever tried to use it . . .” I freed her from her restraints, stroked it softly, and her clit engorged to its full length immediately, harder, thicker, and longer than it’d ever been. I turned her towards the full-length mirror and pulled her skirt up in front of her. We both giggled at the obscene image of this strikingly beautiful woman with an oversized clit staring back at us. She pulled on a pair of sexy French-cut, lace panties and tucked her clit away as she took a deep breath and emerged for her debut as a dirty, white, pain-pig, tramp.

The reactions of everyone were just as I’d hoped. The fellas almost couldn’t believe that Stacy wasn’t a real woman. They kept looking at her and whispering to each other. Dante pulled me to the side and asked me if I wasn’t trying to play some sort of game on them because there was no way that could really be a dude. Stacy was disappointed and deservingly so. She wanted more than four men to use and abuse her body. She’d learned to take two oversized dildos in her asscunt at the same time. She could swallow 12 inches of dildo without gagging and I’d teased her for months about the prospect of having no less than 10 men fuck her to unconsciousness. She was the most gracious hostess however, refilling drink glasses, making sure everyone had something to eat, laughing and mingling and making everyone feel comfortable like only a real woman could do.

She teased the men, just like I’d taught her to do, bending over and showing off her ass. Her tits were spilling out of her sexy top and she made sure to rub crotches whenever she could.

Everyone was waiting for my signal for the real party to begin. “Gentlemen, I want to thank you so much for coming here tonight. Stacy is my greatest accomplishment to date. Spank her, fist fuck her, make her suck your filthy cocks after you fuck her, degrade her in whatever extreme, base, perverted, disgusting way you can think of. ANYTHING you can think of, she’ll do it and I promise she’ll only beg for more. Without further ado, let the games begin.”

The guys started moving furniture around, making space in the living room for the serious play to begin. Stacy did a sexy and sensual striptease, more exotic and alluring than any professional could do. I saw a look of panic in her eyes when it came time to take off her panties. It was in that moment that he was ashamed of her cock. She wanted to have a real pussy, a real clit. I looked at her and nodded slightly and told her with my eyes that it was okay for her to be who she was. She sensed my reassurance and boldly stepped out of her panties and got on her knees and waited for whatever sweet torture could be inflicted upon her.

Dante and Rodney pulled out their dicks first and Stacy dove for them, feeling the smooth, taut skin of their hardening cocks fill her mouth, tasting their sweet precum. She jerked off one as she sucked the other and went back and forth, deep throating them and getting them wet with spit. Rodney grabbed her face and forced her mouth open and spit in it and shoved his dick balls deep in her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and fucked her face. Dante pulled her sexy nipples which only made her hum and moan on the cock in her mouth. Eric wanted in on the action and he pulled off all his clothes and said, “Let me have some of that.”

Always willing to share, the first two backed off and let the other two have at it. Eric turned around and said, “Come on bitch, nothing more that I like than a white woman’s tongue in my dirty asshole. Lick it clean.” I had no idea how dirty his asshole was in order for it to be licked clean but it was apparent that Stacy loved the smells and tastes of whatever his asscrack had to offer. She drove her tongue in deep and sucked his asshole. I could hear her say, “Mmmm, it tastes so good,” before her face was surrounded by Eric’s sex bubble butt and she went back to making a feast of his asshole.

Gerald was the last man standing and he wanted in on the action too. Come here bitch, I gotta piss and I want you to drink it all. Stacy whipped around and before she could confirm that she was ready, her mouth was full of cock. She had been trained well to hold completely still and wait for that piss and I could see her start to swallow repeatedly as Gerald moaned out, “Yeah, toilet whore, drink my rank, hot piss.” I could tell when he was finished because he started to fuck her throat savagely. “Yeah slut, take my black dick.”

Things went into overdrive from then on out. All four men had their hard cocks in her mouth in succession. Occasionally she would have two cocks in her mouth at the same time but that didn’t seem to faze her. While she was sucking one, she was stroking off two others. They were pinching her nipples, slapping her tits, taking turns shoving their hard cocks in her throat. Eric hadn’t planned on cumming in her mouth but she was sucking so hard, licking his balls and working the head of his dick with her throat that he couldn’t help himself. He blasted her mouth with his salty cum like a real man, pumping his hot jism in her mouth and adding his spit to the mix before she was made to swallow.

Stacy was in the zone. “Fuck me, somebody please fuck me.” She was pushed down to her knees and Rodney got in position first. He was still wet from the nasty blowjob and her pussy was leaking lube so he had no reason to go slow. He rammed his dick in her cunt balls deep. She let out a moan and lowered he head to the floor and kept her ass in the air so he could have full access to pound her tight pussy. He grabbed her hips and started pounding out a steady rhythm like an African drum. Each stroke, he would pull out to the head and ram every inch deep inside her. Gerald got in front of her and worked it out so that when he was balls deep in her mouth, Rodney was pulling out of her tight twat.

Dante was amused. “Man, white boys are fucked up. Look at this fucking faggot take all that dick and not miss a beat.”

Stacy looked up. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m a fucking faggot whiteboy that lives to be used by black men. Breed my sissy cunt, use me, degrade me for being a perverted white bitch, treat me like a piece of shit. Take out all your aggression and frustration on my pussy. Just fuck me. FUUUCK ME.”

And that’s exactly what they did. One by one, they fucked her like an animal without care for her pleasure or pain. Every time a cock was pulled from her freshly fucked shithole she sucked it clean. There wasn’t an occasion in over two hours that she didn’t have a cock in her mouth and her pussy at the same time. The guys held off on cumming until they couldn’t take it anymore. She worked her pussy and they gave her what she wanted. Her ass was red and sore from being spanked, her tits were bruised from being grabbed and squeezed. Her nuts were aching and in pain, desperate for release. The pain inspired her for more. The more they used her, the more ravenous she became. Gerald unloaded his nuts her mouth while Dante pumped a load deep in her colon. He grabbed a plate of Hors D'Oeuvres, dumped them on the floor, and made her squat over the plate and shit out his cum. Stacy pushed out his cum and took it a step further and licked his cum from the plate like a sexy kitten licking milk.

Eric had the most stamina because he’d already cum once so he lay on the floor and demanded that she ride his jet, black dick. She stood shakily on her high heels, her legs weakened by the savage fucking she’d endured for several hours. Still a lady in every sense of the word, and still beautiful even with her makeup smeared and her hair sweaty, she thought only of her lover’s pleasure first and turned away from him, facing his feet so that he wouldn’t have to be disgusted by looking at her obscene, aroused pink clitty. I intervened. I leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear. “You aren’t really a woman, you are a pathetic white boy who needed the pretense of being a woman to realize your nasty true nature. Don’t be afraid to show off your worthless cock now. You are a filthy, faggot, cocksucking cum-whore who now knows that you are only fit to please Black men. I destroyed you and recreated you to be what I wanted, a white sissy bitch. Own who you are, just like I own you.” Somehow, she understood that they were words of empowerment and she turned to face Gerald and lowered her asspussy on his erection.

She remembered everything I taught her. She worked her pussy and rode that hard shaft, squeezing it, milking it, and pumping her hips like an insatiable slut. Eric tried to fuck her so hard he tried to throw her off. She rode his cock like a cowboy rides a bucking bronco. The room reeked of sweaty man sex. She kept chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,“ over and over again.

I could tell that Eric was close and I grabbed Stacy’s cock and stroked it no more than three times and she erupted, shooting hot cum in the air. It landed on Eric’s washboard abs and he was furious. “Bitch, look what you did! Lick that shit off of me you goddamn homo.” For the first time in the evening, Stacy was given a task she couldn’t do. She’d been reprogrammed to detest the cum of white men. In her head, she wasn’t a white man anymore; she’d truly become a sissy slut, a feminized bitch. There was something else however that made her repulsed by the thought of having to lick the cum of what she hated most, a white man. It was in that moment that she started to cry like a bitch, sobbing uncontrollably at the request that made her come face to face with her own self-hatred.

“Fuck me some more,” she demanded, “give me some more cum.” She got on her knees and pulled open her abused asscheeks to reveal her swollen and red rosebud. “Come on, fuck me. Pump your hot cum in me, Fuck me. I need more cum. I need more cocks. I had the guys get dressed and leave while I attended to Stacy, trying to calm her down until she fell asleep on the floor, fucked and exhausted.

It’s been a week since the party. Stacy has been calling me around the clock. I’ve had no choice but to ignore her calls because I’m on to my next project and this time, at least he’s reasonably attractive.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Sunday, May 11, 2008

The touch of your hand awakens dreams deferred.

At first, the touch of your hand to my stomach arouses fear and panic in me. Not because I’m afraid you will use me for sex, I don’t believe you are capable of that. I have so many old, negative tapes going on in my head. I have so many dreams and aspirations that I’ve yet to realize playing in my mind.

The touch of your hand makes me feel afraid of being sexual with you because my sexuality has been stifled for so very long. I don’t feel confident in myself, in my ability to be sexual. I know how the mechanics of sex work. I recognize that it’s natural. It’s just that I’ve pushed men away for so long, I’ve relegated my sexuality to a computer screen and an occasional late night phone call for so long, I don’t know how to let you know that I want you, that I crave you. So, with your hand on my tummy, I freeze, unable to move, unable to tell you that the warmth of your hand on my body makes me feel alive, makes me feel like a woman.

I’ve fantasized about what it will be like the very next time I make love to a man. We will be in love with one another; we will be twin flames, reunited after lifetimes of refinement, only to connect in a passionate exchange of passion and intimacy. The touch of your hand reminds me of those dreams, of hearing my man say, “Scottie, I am so in love with you,” as he penetrates me for the very first time, knowing that we will never be with another person for the rest of our lives. The heat of your hand on my body reminds me of fantasies of tasting my man’s tears as he is deep inside me, knowing that I am his protector and shelter, that I am the place he runs to feel whole, to receive nourishment. Your fingertips stimulate my dormant imagination and remind me of fantasies of a lover who caters to my every need, who takes the time to please me knowing that my satisfaction will bring about his. Your hand becomes the hand of my fantasy lover, who bathes me every night, who anoints my body with lotions and oils, who licks me softly until I explode in his mouth and who slowly, gently, tenderly makes love to me each and every night until I’m begging and screaming for him to fuck me savagely. With your simple touch to my belly, you have ignited visions of my husband cumming inside me and creating life together with our love.

Instead, I freeze at the touch of your hand to my body. I don’t know how to express my fears to you, so I say nothing, a single tear falling from the corner of my eye I quickly brush away.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Am I not my sister’s keeper?

You see it all the time, every day in fact. Black women look for any opportunity they can to ridicule, belittle, and denigrate “those black women.” You’ve seen it, if a Black man finds a lame excuse to malign black women as gold-diggers, or bitches, or some other offensive and sexist slur, Black women will come out of the woodwork to jump on the bandwagon and throw some fuel on the fire. To hear them tell the tale, these upstanding and outraged women are always the best mothers, the most exceptional pillars of the community, beyond reproach with nothing but contempt for “those Black women.” They have nothing but venom for the underprivileged, disadvantaged, or God-forbid, women who’ve made a mistake. They are perfect and they make sure to stand atop their pedestal of condescension to point the finger of disgust at “those Black women.” They don’t have a problem with misogynist rap lyrics because it doesn’t refer to them; they are referring to “those Black women.” They are above any vile criticism of Black women in general because they are not one of “those Black women.” Their anthem? “I’m a strong Black woman.” They have no compassion, no empathy, nothing but judgment and hatred for “those Black women.”

Black men have no such pathology. In fact, they tip the scales on the opposite end of the spectrum. Black men can never find fault, flaw, or blemish with another Black man no matter how reprehensible their behavior. A Black man can have 23 children for whom he pays not one thin dime and you will find brothas lined up to excuse his behavior. In fact, Black men will find some reason to blame Black women for his excessive offspring, saying that if women didn’t spread their legs, he wouldn’t have so many children. RARELY do you hear a Black man saying, “I’m not one of those Black men.” There is a certainly solidarity in having a penis that dictates that Black men stick together to avert anything negative and turn it into the fault of the Black woman. When there is any constructive criticism given of Black men, the tendency is for Black men to assume that the criticism is directed to every Black man on the face of the planet and it becomes the responsibility of Black men to defend and deflect.

Both behaviors are unhealthy.

Any person that feels that he or she has to malign someone else is inherently insecure. There’s a huge difference between identifying the unhealthy behaviors of Black women while trying to bring about a certain amount of consciousness and healing and talking shit and badmouthing other Black women so as to appear superior/perfect. Hating (in the literal definition of the word, not the commonly used definition of simply criticizing someone) other black women for being victims of societal conditions shows no compassion and compassion is a sign of maturity. This whole, “I’m a strong Black woman,” archetype is delusional because it perpetuates this myth that Black women are these super sassy, indestructible forces that can raise children on their own, go to school, have a job, and maintain a relationship without blinking an eye. News Flash, Black women are suffering from depression, rage, dying of heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes, and doubled over with fibroids and it’s because we are so intent to hold on to this irrational stereotype. The women who live long, happy, healthy lives are the women that understand that it’s human to have weakness, to ask for help, and to admit imperfection. There’s no valor in being so hardened, so filled with hate at your fellow sistren that you lack the empathy, a quality Black women should embody and personify.

Standing up against oppressive, sexist, and misogynist depictions of ANY Black woman is a measure of evolution. We all suffer, when we are referred to as bitches and ho’s, those that believe themselves to be just that and those that would sooner spit on those women than acknowledge that their plights are the similar. Aren’t we all as Black women, looking to feel validated and loved, to feel as if our life has value? Haven’t we all, every Black woman, made poor choices when it comes to men? Yes, some women have been led astray by unhealthy influences and messages and yes, they behave in ways that are detrimental to their self-esteem and self worth. If we can’t come together, however, to stand united against the oppression of ALL Black women we will perish in a quagmire of backstabbing and denial.

Copyright 2006

Friday, May 09, 2008

Made for Me

If I could have a man created specifically for me, with all the things I desire in a partner, I would ask for a man who took my breath away every time I saw him. He would be tall and brown and ooze integrity and character from every pore in his being. He would be wise beyond his years and his words would be carefully chosen each time he spoke and they would flow like honey from his lips.

If I could have a man created specifically for me, he would consider Africa his cultural and spiritual homeland and be willing to shed the belief systems that we have incorporated during slavery for a more holistic way of living. He would be driven to fulfill his purpose in life and single minded in his dedication to a cause that is holy, righteous, and good. He will meditate every morning and he would pray with me every night. Of course, he will be able to cry on my shoulder and ask for support because he has come face to face with the demons that have kept men from evolving emotionally and he will have a commitment to redefining himself anew. He will listen first and then speak, he will not internalize every comment as criticism, and he will apologize when he’s done something wrong.

My perfect man will live off of a plant based diet, practice a spiritual system other than Christianity, and he will be openly bisexual. He will have been in an intimate relationship with another man and loved him. He will be comfortable with his sexuality not being tied to ridiculous roles that define him. He will be a patient and attentive lover who will be willing to please and pamper me with the knowledge that I will only return the favor tenfold.

He will be an amazing father to our children, patient, loving, and kind. He will be an excellent example for them to follow and raise them up to be discerning, compassionate, logical, and most of all brilliant. He will not show favoritism to our sons and he will be capable of twisting the locs in our daughter’s hair. He will be willing to educate our children at home and take equal responsibility in doing so.

He would never be intimidated by my intellect, potential, or my activism and he would support me and my efforts with words of encouragement and praise. He would put other’s needs above his wants and we will travel the world in search of truth. He will know the first and third verses of the Negro National Anthem and he will stand up when it’s being sung without being told. He will never use the word nigger, nigga, or any phonetic or derivative spelling thereof out of reverence and respect for our ancestors.

I want my perfect man to be equal parts creative and intelligent, equal parts spiritual and carnal. Make him open-minded, tolerant of people’s differences, and as far left as he can get politically without falling off the scale and ending up in jail at Guantanmo Bay. I want him to be an avid reader and lover of jazz, art, real theater (not Medea plays) and capable of articulating why the current brand of hip-hop is misogynist and offensive to not only women but to men as well.

His commitment to our relationship will be beyond compare. My perfect man would prioritize and sacrifice in order for us to continually grow. Ahh, my perfect lover would hold me in his arms at night and kiss my forehead and whisper, “I love you,” and make me feel as if everything was right with the world.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Promises, Promises

Being a bachelor is great, right? You can do what you want, come and go as you please, with no one to answer to. There’s a side to living the single life that a lot of guys don’t like to talk about however. If you’re not the type of brotha who’s a playboy, with hot, nympho supermodels coming in and out at all hours of the night, if the majority of your sex comes from a computer screen and not a human being, life can be really lonely for the single guy.

That was the sad reality for Chase. He worked 9 to 5 or so at an insurance company at a job that was so incredibly boring that he contemplated running away to Rio every morning during his daily commute. He couldn’t really complain too much, he got away with doing as little work as possible and got paid well enough to go on vacation, party, save a little, and live comfortably. He wasn’t ugly, he was attractive by most standards, but he just wasn’t the sort of guy that felt comfortable going out picking up random chicks. He could if he applied himself to the effort but it just didn’t seem worth the drama.

It was the ride home from work where Chase’s inner sexual demons started taunting him. Living alone, Chase had become addicted to masturbation. He felt guilty about the fact that he felt like he was enslaved to his raging sexual desires. Sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, he made a deal with himself. “I’m not going to do it tonight. Yeah, I’m not going to do it for another month, starting today,” he affirmed aloud.

Arriving home, Chase headed straight for the bathroom. Pulling out his dick, he let loose with a stream of hot urine into the bowl. It felt good to piss and before the strong yellow stream finished, his dick was getting wood. He stroked it a little and pulled his balls out and started rolling them in his fingers. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, the guilt hit him and he stopped before he got too carried away.

Getting out of his suit and putting on some comfortable sweats, Chase was free to fix dinner. Well, he ordered take-out because he had never even used his stove before. Committed to his vow, he sat down to watch TV while he ate his buffalo wings. He hadn’t even been home for an hour before he started getting anxious. “I’ll just log on, check my email, and log off,” he said to himself, knowing that it was the Internet that was his downfall.

Before he could even open up a browser, he got an IM from one of his buddies saying, “hey whaz up u gonna cam 2nite?”

“Nah, not tonight,” he replied before he went invisible. He checked his email and other than notification that an ousted Nigerian parliamentarian was seeking his assistance in getting $2 million bucks out of the country, he didn’t have any emails. He checked his MySpace and Black Planet pages, wrote about how much he hated his job on his blog, and he didn’t see a reason not to check his Xtube page while he was at it. The temptation was just too great and he checked out some of the recently added videos. He watched a few women getting pounded hard in the ass while he played with his nipples, twisting and rubbing them. There couldn’t be any harm in checking out a few tranny vids, could there? Before he knew it, Chase had been watching porn for two hours and his dick was as hard as a rock and he was stroking it with his favorite lotion for lube. He’d been teasing himself the entire time and he was desperate to cum.

He struggled within himself. He didn’t want to go back on his vow but he was so horny, so turned on. He felt ashamed of himself, and guilty. It was almost as if his lust controlled him when he was in this sort of aroused state. Now, completely naked, he was fingering his ass and didn’t give a damn about the empty promise he’d made to himself.

He went to his closet and got out all of his toys. Chase had a collection of dildos that went from small butt plugs he could wear under his suits at work with no one the wiser to gigantic, humongous, enormous dildos that didn’t look like human beings could take them. They ranged in color from light cocoa to the darkest of ebony. His dick leaked precum at the very thought of feeling those huge, fake dicks penetrating his ass.

Part of his arousal was feeling the shame. He felt dirty and abnormal for loving things shoved up his ass but that turned him on as well. He was terrified he was the only brotha in the world who loved women, loved pussy, loved fucking but also loved feeling his asshole stuffed with hard, huge fake dicks. When he was aroused like this, his ass had a mind of it’s own. He couldn’t count how many times he’d thrown every dildo he owned away, promising to never do it again, only to wind up a few weeks later, replacing all the ones he’d discarded and buying even more to add to his collection. He just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that his asshole would get as horny as a pussy, throbbing and desperate to be filled, fucked savagely, and left gaping open.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t go more than three or four days without it. Something in him took over and it was all he could think about. He had a ritual. He went from small to large, talking to himself out loud the entire time. “Ohh, that’s it. Ohhh, it feels so good going in my tight hole. Mmmm, I can feel the head of that dick stretching my anal ring, sliding in deep. Damn, I love feeling that thick shaft in me.” He didn’t even have to touch his prick, it leaked on it’s own. When he did jerk his stiff, hard erection, he craved the feeling of a big, hard dildo deep, deep inside him. He loved feeling slutty and by the time he was in the zone, he as out of control with his fantasies. “Fuck yeah, fill my pussy with that hard meat. Give it to me, fuck me with that big dick.”

Truth be told, he was crazy for the feeling of being penetrated but he was terrified of being bisexual. Those fears seemed to disappear when he was fucking himself; he got off in those moments of depravity by thinking of himself as a faggot gangbang slut, taking on four and five dudes at a time, being used, driving them crazy with his insatiable asspussy that couldn’t be satisfied, that would drain them of their cum and be ready for more.

By 11:00, Chase was deep in his nightly routine and he was ready for the 13-inch dildo in his ass. It was over four inches thick at the base and as black as night. He positioned the base on the wall and got on his knees. He teased himself by rubbing it up and down his ass crack and over his balls. He liked teasing himself, pretending that he had to beg for it like a filthy whore. His asshole was throbbing with desire and he heard himself moan as he backed up on the head. For Chase, that was one of the most intense feelings, feeling that thick head pop in his hole. He taunted his fantasy lover, “Oh yeah, does that feel good? You like the way my tight, wet, hot pussy makes you feel?” He backed up on the dildo and felt every inch as it went deeper and deeper inside. Luckily, he’s laid out some towels on the floor because by the time he’d worked that entire dildo in his ass, he’d pissed himself and it felt damn sexy.

The feeling of fullness was indescribable. Chase wished he could stay like that forever, with that huge dildo deep in him, filling him, keeping him on the edge of pleasure and satisfying a need in him to be filled. He grabbed another dildo and shoved it in his mouth, sucking it like only a cheap whore could. He wanted two real dicks filling him, making him take every inch. In his mind, he was a cum slut, bareback bitch, getting hot cum pumped in him from both ends. Chase was like an animal, sweating and moaning and fucking himself like crazy. He worked every inch of that thick dildo in his ass and wiggled that ass like a stripper to work it deeper. He got into a rhythm where he would take it all the way out to the head and slam back on it hard, causing himself to moan out in pleasure as he fucked himself over and over again. When he felt himself getting close to cumming, he stopped; prolonging the pleasure was such an intense high he didn’t mind only getting a few hours sleep at night in order to scratch that itch in his mancunt.

When he lay on the bed, with his legs in the air, he could see the dildo going in and out of his pussy in the mirror. He loved looking at his sexy brown hole gape open, imagining loads and loads of hot cum dripping from it. He found himself on more than one occasion licking and sucking a dildo directly from his ass, tasting his manly ass juices and shoving it back in only to lick and suck it again. He talked to himself in the mirror, “Look at you. You are so nasty. Look at you cleaning that filthy dick straight from your shithole. Mmm, it tastes so good.”

When he knew he couldn’t take it anymore, when he knew he was about to explode with cum, he turned on his web cam, mounted his favorite, curved dildo to his chair and gave a show for anyone who wanted to see. His fans loved seeing him ride that thick dildo as much as they loved seeing him stroke his own impressive dick. Every time that curved dildo hit his spot, he would moan like a bitch. “Fuck yeah, I love feeling that big hard dick in my pussy. I’m such a faggot slut. I can’t get enough. I’m addicted to feeling that thick, hard shaft shoved in me. I need it deeper, harder.” The muscles in his thighs flexed and he jerked his erection in time, hard and fast. “I’m such a fucking cumwhore. I love getting fucked in my ass. Shit, fuck me. Fuck, it feels so fucking good. Goddamn bareback pussy boi whore who can’t get enough. Fucking fag boy who loves getting fucked. Dirty, nasty shithole slut, getting that hot, thick dickmeat where I need it. Come on, can’t you fuck me any harder than that? Use this tight manpussy, rip it open. Oh god, I can’t take it, I’m going to cum. Shit . . . Fuck . . . Damnnnnnnn!!!! Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

Cleanup was a bitch. The last thing he wanted to do at 3 in the morning was to wash up and put everything away in its hiding place. He knew if he didn’t, Chase knew that if he didn’t put everything away then and there, that when he came home from work later that evening, that he would be too tempted to do it again. And this time made a promise to himself that he wasn’t going to do it again for at least another month.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Cream-filled Center

Juan tried to hold off as long as he could. He could prolong foreplay four what seemed like HOURS to Carmen. He loved her natural, musky scents so he didn’t have a problem licking her from head to toe. When most people say the phrase “head to toe”, they really mean tits, pussy, and if you’re lucky, ass. For Juan, it meant licking the soles of Carmen’s feet, between her sexy toes, it even meant licking under her arms. He was a man aroused by tastes and scents and he was very oral in his desires.

After intensive pussy licking, making his lover wet with passion, he held her legs up and put them over his shoulders. Pulling his foreskin back, revealing the sensitive pink head of his brown cock that was swollen and shiny with precum, he took aim. He lined the head up with her tight hole and teased her momentarily, just rubbing the sensitive tip against her smooth pussy lips. Carmen wanted to get fucked and fucked hard, so she grabbed his hips and pulled him forward, essentially making him ram his thickness into her. She screamed out that it hurt but she didn’t let go of her grip and they built up a steady, pounding rhythm, him thrusting inside her and she taking every inch and begging and screaming for more.

His dick hit bottom, stroking her tight pussy walls and he could feel the cum in hits nuts boiling up. He concentrated on the task at hand, thrusting, pumping, driving his dick in her over and over and over again. He could smell the musky scent of their combined perspiration in the air. He gripped her thighs tighter, pinning them back to her chest and he pumped her that much deeper. He could hear the wet sounds of his balls slapping against her wet cunt and he was grunting like an animal. Carmen took her finger, stuck it in her mouth, and slid it in Juan’s asshole. That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore and he pumped his hot load deep in Carmen’s pussy.

The fun wasn’t over for either Juan or Carmen, however. Grabbing the backs of her knees, Carmen held her legs open. Her pussy looked swollen and red and her hole gaped open lewdly. Juan settled in and put his face just inches from her raunchy, well-fucked pussy. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of a pussy that was dripping with cum. Carmen pushed. Her pussy farted and the load Juan had just pumped in her dribbled out. He dove for the slimy treat, and stuck his tongue in her loose hole. He could taste the tangy mixture of both of their juices together and it made him light-headed, almost drunk with arousal. His dick got hard again almost immediately as he sucked that delicious creampie, getting off an eating the cum that he had just deposited. Juan had been eating his own cum since he was a teen but there was nothing better than eating his cum from a wet, juicy, sweet, hot pussy that he’d just fucked.

He had to swallow quickly as Carmen kept pushing out cum, both his and hers. He held the load in his mouth and Carmen pulled him up to kiss her. He shared their cum with her, swapping that nasty cocktail back and forth as his dick found it’s way back between her thighs and deep in her pussy again. He pumped her longer this time, harder even, making the room reek with the smell of hot sex and pumping her pussy full of another load of his hot cum.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

I’ve been a VERY Bad Girl

I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t be bad again. Please, pretty please, don’t spank me. I didn’t mean to be naughty. I don’t deserve to be spanked. It’s too humiliating. I mean, who wants to pull up their skirt and pull down their panties and lay across your lap to wait to get a spanking? Not me. Isn’t there anything I can do to make you not be mad at me? I can be a very good girl if you let me, if you know what I mean.

This isn’t fair. You’re so strong; it’s going to hurt really bad. Please don’t spank me. I know my ass is big and full but that just means it’s more ass to spank and it’s going to hurt more. I don’t see why I should have to take off all my clothes while you stay dressed. You’re such a meanie.

Okay, let’s get this over. You said twenty times, right? No more! Just do it you son of a bitch. OUCH! That hurts. You like this, don’t you? You are getting off on seeing my ass jiggle and move every time you land your hand on my flesh, hearing the slap ring out as it makes contact with my soft butt. Not so hard, you don’t have to be so sadistic about it. Mmmm, stop it. You perverted mother fucker, you are getting off on this, aren’t you? I can feel your hard dick rubbing on my thighs. LET ME GO RIGHT NOW! My ass is on fire and it hurts so bad.

Okay, it’s over, let me up. Wait, that wasn’t part of the plan. You can’t spread my legs and . . . oh shit, stop that. Don’t finger my pussy. So what it’s wet! That doesn’t mean anything. Mmmm, stop, please. You can’t fuck me, it’s going to hurt my sore, hot bottom. How dare you slam your big, hard dick in my soaking wet pussy from behind, slamming into my stinging ass after you’ve spanked me. I’ll get you back for this. I promise I will.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

The Thrill of Exposure

Tracy was the more adventurous partner in the couple. Eric wasn’t really conservative, he had a wild streak, but it was usually reserved for behind closed doors. It was she who took unnecessary chances and risked getting caught in situations that could be potentially very dangerous. It was the thrill that drove her to try new things in public, and unfortunately for Eric, he could only resist for so long until his hard dick told him otherwise.

Today was no exception. While going through the rather mundane chore of grocery shopping, a chore they usually did together to make it less of a burden for one person, Tracy started flirting and making sexy suggestions in Eric’s ear while picking out produce. “I bet you’d love to shove this huge, fat cucumber in my asshole, wouldn’t you babe?” Eric just shook his head and tried to tell her to be a little quieter; he didn’t want other people hearing her lewd comments.

While pretending to reach for a tomato, Tracy rubbed her hand against Eric’s pants, making sure to caress his dick a little longer than she should. “Will you stop that! Come on, it’s not funny. I don’t want to get thrown out of Publix. How embarrassing would that be?”

“I’m sorry baby, she said, sticking her tongue in his ear and acting like she didn’t have a care in the world. They were a few aisles away when Tracy took the opportunity to bend all the way over reach for something on the bottom shelf and Eric could CLEARLY see beneath her short skirt that not only was she not wearing panties, but that she had a butt plug in her ass and she had no shame in showing off to him.

“Jeez, Trace, what are you doing?” His words sounded outraged but his dick was harder than a rock. He grabbed her by the arm like a father does a child and they didn’t even finish getting the things on the list. He was tempted to leave the cart in the aisle and go home so he could fuck the living daylights out of her. Tracy convinced him that they should at least pay for the things they had already gotten because they were certainly going to need some nourishment later in the evening.

In the parking lot, putting the bags in the back of their SUV, Tracy took the opportunity to pull the back of her skirt up intentionally and spread the cheeks of her ass to make sure Eric got one last view of her toy. Paranoid, he looked around to make sure no one else was looking and pulled her skirt down and demanded that she get in the car. The windows weren’t tinted but he hoped they were high enough away from prying eyes to keep people from seeing him whip out his hard dick. Without a word being spoken, Tracy swallowed him whole. She pulled the zipper down on her top and freed her tits. Eric fondled them with one hand while his other hand kept a steady pressure on the back of her head. It wasn’t because Tracy was reluctant to suck him off, it was because he was so close to cumming he couldn’t have her stop. Tracy sucked and licked and swallowed like there was no tomorrow, driving her man crazy with their very public antics. Cum shot so hard from Eric’s dick that he thought he was going to choke his lover. Shot after shot erupted as he moaned out. Tracy took it all like a champ and licked her lips. It wasn’t until they were unpacking groceries at home that Eric noticed that Tracy had put that cucumber in the cart.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Our First Place

We put the key in the door of our first home and crossed the threshold hand in hand. We had just come from the closing and the house was officially ours, ALL 2,200 square feet of mid-century Ranch amortized at 6.34% for the next 30 years of it. For a couple of dykes, buying a house together is the closest sort of commitment you can get to getting married. Sabrina was feeling sentimental, going through each room and dreaming out loud of what our lives were going to be like; the Virgo in me was feeling overwhelmed and anxious at the amount of unpacking we had to do just to get to our toothbrushes, towels, and dishes.

I have to confess, when I was watching her unpack, with her red and white scarf tied around her head and her favorite t-shirt with a big ole rainbow on it, I had to marvel at her beauty, both inside and out. She was so calm, so grounding for me. She’d made coming out to my family not easy, but tolerable. She made all the gross and offensive comments from men who thought they could “change me with their super dicks” bearable. She just fits me perfectly in every way. We’ve been together for four years. That’s equivalent to 16 heterosexual years for a lesbian couple and we’ve been together longer than all of our gay friends, both male and female, have ever been in a relationship combined.

I’d just about finished getting the bed frame up when I heard our doorbell ring for the first time. I ran downstairs to see who it could be and I saw Sabrina paying a delivery guy for some takeout food. She’d set up a makeshift table in the living room by taking one of our moving boxes and putting a sheet over it and she decorated it with flowers from our garden in a jar from the garage and some candles she got from who knows where. “Come and get it,” she said, as we sat down on the floor to dine on some Chinese food on the first night of the rest of our lives together.

I was overwhelmed with the feelings of love I had for this woman. “You know, I adore you, right?”

She looked at me and half-laughed. “Of course I do. And I love you too.”

“No,” I said, “I adore you. You mean the world to me. I don’t even want to think what my life would be like without you. I can’t even imagine who I would be without you.” I started to get really emotional and the words got choked up in my throat. She crawled over to my side and I put my head on her shoulder. She kissed the top of my forehead and I reached up to kiss her. Her tongue found mine and we shared an intimate kiss that grew more passionate with each passing tick of the clock. I lay back on the living room floor and she climbed on top of me, pressing her body into mine.

“Mmmm, we don’t have any curtains up yet . . . . we should . .. Stop,” I managed to say.
True to her rebellious nature, she said, “I don’t give a fuck. This is OUR house,” with heavy emphasis on the word our, and if I want to make love to my wife, and people want to watch, then so fucking be it.” With that, she slid her hand between my legs and pressed her palm against my mound. My body responded before my common sense could and I was pulling her t-shirt over her head while she was freeing me from the restrictions of my clothing.

We made love, on the floor, the very first night in our brand new home. Reclining back on an overstuffed pillow, I spread my legs and she made a dessert out of my breasts, licking and sucking my hardened nipples until I was begging her to go down on me. She kissed her way down my stomach and spread my legs. Taking her fingers, she spread the lips of my pussy and softly, gently, licked my clit until I was squirming and moaning and holding her mouth to my wet slit, wrapping my legs around her head and demanding that she let me cum in her mouth. She worked her tongue up inside me and her fingers found my asshole. I was cursing and screaming and telling her how good she made me feel and thankful we weren’t in our old, tiny one bedroom apartment with thin walls.

I turned over and got up on my knees and she alternated between driving her tongue in my pussy and my ass, causing me to reach back and spread my asscheeks wider so she could do her magic. She licked me from my clit to my spine and back again and I was grinding my pussy all over her face. She playfully slapped my ass and warned me that if I didn’t hold still that she was going to stop. Like hell she was going to stop. She wanted my cum and she wasn’t going to stop until I was flowing all over her.

She did a Bruce Lee sort of move and flipped around until her pussy was against mine. I could feel the heat of her warm cunt and the wetness of her slippery folds. She scissored her legs with mine and started bumping and grinding away, clit to clit. It was like our pussies were French kissing. I could feel the first signs of my orgasm approaching and I begged her to stop. I wanted to make love to her, to eat her, to enjoy every inch of her body first. She didn’t listen and she kept taunting me, teasing me, telling me to cum. “Give me that cum baby. Bathe me in your sweet honey. That’s it, squirt all over Mami. Oh yeah, baby, fuck me with that hard clit of yours. “

That sent me over the edge and I exploded. We curled up in each other’s arms and lay there for a while, just basking in the glow. I stroked her hair and intertwined my brown fingers with hers. She said, “We’ve christened one room, just think, we have six more to go.”

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK