Minority Affairs

The Other Half of the Amulet

It was the sound of his voice that triggered the knowing.  In that split second, when I heard the acoustic waves created only by his vocal cords, I knew I had found my perfect submissive.  He is the other half of the amulet, the yin to my yang, the missing piece that fits my kinky puzzle perfectly.  Intelligent, articulate, completely depraved and perverted; he fits me.  He is my equal and my opposite in every way.  For all of my excellence and superiority he is excellently and equally inferior.  He craves filth in a way that is far more extreme than most people could wrap their heads around and I can deliver what he craves and then some.  He recognized my inherent dominance from our first communication and I could see his sub-human true nature instantly. 

He’d been molested as a child.  His father’s best friend had his hands in his pants before he was in little league.  The abuse lasted until he was well into his teens and it grew more and more extreme, more twisted and perverted as the years progressed.  By the time the man was promoted and moved away, my bitch had been emotionally and psychologically warped beyond repair and sexually used by more men than he could count.  Now in his 40s, he’s become successful in his career and maintains the image of normalcy but it is just an image, a fake persona he wears.  He is obsessed with sex.  It consumes him.  All day, every day, he thinks of nothing more than how to get his next nut, of how he can make it more extreme.  His needs for stimulation have graduated far beyond anything remotely close to vanilla.  He’s spent thousands of dollars over the years on toys and gear and hookers and memberships to websites.  In every meeting, at every conference, he schemes and plots about how to be nastier, more sinister.  At every company luncheon, he looks at his co-wokers and knows that they would be horrified if they knew he could fit a dildo the size of a grown man’s forearm in his slutty boicunt . . . and that he craves bigger, thicker, longer ones fucking him senseless. 

Because of the abuse, he has trust issues.  His father knew of the exploitation and turned a blind eye to it.  They had a network of deviants that shared each other’s kids.  His father liked little girls so he would allow his son to have sleepovers and camping trips with his friends while he got to play house with his friend’s daughters.  Because of that, my little bitch doesn’t know what real affection and innocence feel like; he doesn’t know what it means to be a child who is protected and loved.  I exploit that.  I make him call me Mommy and make him feel like shit because of it.  I toy with his emotions, degrade and humiliate him, taunt and tease him and remind him of how inherently fucked up he is, how he will never be normal, never have a normal relationship with anyone.  I threaten to withhold my attention from him for my arousal; I terrorize him by intimating that I will throw him away like a piece of trash.  It hurts him.  I can see it in his eyes.  But it arouses him.  The more I tell him the truth, the more it makes him insane with lust and hunger.  The more I toy with his emotions, the more it gets my pussy incredibly wet. 

I own his very soul.  I can tell him to do anything and he will still need more.  If I tell him to suck my dog’s cock, he will ram his tongue in his asshole.  My absolute favorite thing to do to him is to have him on his knees, with my lover fucking him savagely with his huge black cock, with his face in my hands, whispering in his ear, telling him that he is my white bitch boi.  I punish him with threats that I will make him suck disgusting, old, white cock, like his abuser’s and he curls up like a ball and cries like a baby at the thought.  He knows that his whiteness is an illusion.  He knows that he isn’t more intelligent, that the arrogance and all his accomplishments were ill gotten gains. The truth, and he knows it, is that he has only achieved his success because white men have manipulated, lied, cheated, oppressed, cajoled, and stolen whatever advantages they have gotten.  He knows, every time he has a black cock deep in his throat, that white men are the sick and twisted ones because I remind him that white men are the ones who created him to be what he is. 

Every time he reads the racist rants of white men online, virtually screaming about how Blacks are inherently inferior, he knows that they are fighting their own demons, trying to deny what they know to be true in their hearts as well, that Blacks have more integrity, more ingenuity, more common sense, and a stronger will to survive than any white person could ever hope to have.  With me, he can let down that defense.  With me, he can be the pig he knows is his bloodline, his birthright.  He comes from a long line a pigs and he is proud of it with me.  He sees my grace, dignity, and my morality in my beautiful brown skin, in my deep, intoxicating eyes.  He sees that I can control him with just a glance, a word softly murmured when he is on the verge of orgasm.  I have the ability to break him down in a way no other person has ever done.  He tries to build relationships with women, to pretend to be “that guy” the bachelor who Barbie wants, but his DNA is damaged and we both know it. 

He has cried in my arms when I speak of the real horrors of slavery, of what heinous and evil things white men have done for generations.  He has sobbed like a baby when I described the generations of racist privilege he had inherited to the detriment of my beautiful, strong, resilient, and inherently SUPERIOR ancestors.  He knows that his father’s perversions weren’t isolated, that his father’s friends weren’t unique or exclusive.  With me, he understands that the depravity in his blood has been there for generations and that Africans who were enslaved could never have been as twisted and damaged as his ancestors had been.  His mother loves to be abused.  His sister is a slut of extreme proportions.  His father is a monster.  And with me, my bitch is completely free to be the slug that he was born to be and give up his false sense of white superiority. 

Copyright 2013 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

The Erotic Afro

Technically, in the spirit of equality, I should probably name this series of pictures something to do with niggers as well.  I would hope that perhaps my point was made with the last set and everyone can appreciate these images for what they are, a couple in the heat of passion that just happen to be interracial.  It matters not that she is a black woman and that he is a white man.  They could both be white, they could both be black, they could both be entirely different ethnicities altogether and they would still be the same, a couple expressing their passion.  The fact that she's natural and nappy is just evidence of her comfort with her own cultural identity and her lack of need to conform to Eurocentric standards of beauty in or to appeal to a white man. 

Transformation

The bartender noticed the slight movement of hand and the universal nod as the gentleman discreetly ordered another round of drinks while his date wasn’t looking.  He wasn’t trying to get her drunk; he was actually trying to work up his nerve.  Who would have thought that Doug Rivers, President and CEO of Major Conglomerate, Inc., or some such corporate plantation, would be nervous on a date with the overnight security guard in his office building? 

He had seen her for months.  He would leave his office at midnight and return at 6 a.m. and she would be there, competent, friendly, efficient and smiling.  Even with their brief interaction, Doug could tell that she wasn’t the usual overnight lackey that used the job to catch up on sleep or play video games on the computer.  She always looked him in the eye, anticipated his wants and followed up with details above and beyond what Doug required. 

Regina Marvel took her job seriously but it wasn’t difficult to do.  The job was beneath her, she dangerously underemployed and could do the job with one hand tied behind her back.  It fit her schedule perfectly however, she could go to school in the evenings, use the overnight shift to study and do research and sleep during the day.  It was the perfect gig for a grad student and she was going to take advantage of the situation as long as it was beneficial to her. 

There was something about Regina that absolutely fascinated Doug.  He found himself lingering in the lobby on his way home for inexplicable reasons.  He would actually look forward to their brief encounters on his way to the lobby in the elevator, aware that she could see his every move on the security cameras.  He wanted to strike up a conversation with her but he wasn’t sure exactly how-- or why for that matter.  She was a freakin’ security guard for God’s sake.  AND Black.  He was almost positive that he wasn’t attracted to her.  Regina was NOT his type.  Doug could get any Playboy centerfold of his choice.  If he met a bimbo and something wasn’t exactly to his liking, he had the money and the wherewithal to hire the best plastic surgeons money could buy to remedy it.  Surely, Doug Rivers could have any blonde-haired, blue-eyed, size 2 woman he wanted.  Why on earth would he find himself looking forward to seeing her every day?  Sure, she had a pretty face but she was every bit of size 18.  The top button on her navy blue uniform did little to hide her ample cleavage and Doug found himself trying to not stare occasionally. 

His curiosity could not be contained one night when he peeked over the desk one night and asked, “What are you reading back there?”

“Re-reading actually.  It’s a standard.  Patricia Hill-Collins’ Black Feminist Thought.  I’m dismantling the womanist vs. feminist argument YET AGAIN for my professor. 

Doug froze.  He’d never expected a response like that.  “Wow, I’ve never even heard of Patricia Hope-Collins yet alone can I articulate what the hell a womanist is.  I didn’t think you were that smart . . . “   He felt like an idiot the second the words left his mouth.  He never intended to be disrespectful, even to the hourly employees.  He knew he had insulted her and the sincerity in his voice was apparent as he said, “ I’m so sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

“It’s Hill-Collins and don’t sweat it.  I get it all the time at this job.  People expect me to be functionally illiterate and stupid all time.  It’s part of the job . . . It’s part of your white privilege.  You don’t have to see me as a human being.  I’m just the black body behind the desk to wait on you hand and foot.”  Regina had never been one to censor her true thoughts and the words flowed from her mouth without even the slightest hesitation. 

Doug felt the blood rise up in his cheeks.  He was mad at her for being so blunt and mad at himself because she was right.  He couldn’t let her know that he was so shaken by her forwardness.  “I’m not racist . . . I see everyone the same . . .  color doesn’t matter.”  He was spewing out clichés left and right, stumbling over his words in an effort to ease the guilt and the fact that he was painfully aware the that higher the floor number in his company the lower the numbers of African Americans.  “I don’t think that at all,” he mumbled.  “And to prove it,” gaining more nerve as he spoke,” how about I take you out for a drink on Saturday night to make up for my stupidity?  You can explain to me what womanism is.”  The words came out before he knew what he had said. 

“Mr. Rivers, I don’t need your pity date.  I’m quite confident in who I am and I don’t need to validate my intellect or personhood to alleviate your white guilt.” 

How dare she!  The gauntlet had been thrown.  How dare she challenge his motivations.  Did she have any idea who she just turned down?  Doug wondered if she had any idea how many zeroes he had in his net worth.  He was incensed that she would be so bold as to reject his offer.  There was some movement in his slacks that indicated that she had pushed the right buttons however and stirred him to an almost maniacal competitive passion. 

“This isn’t a pity date and I won’t take no for an answer.  I’ll pick you up here at 8 on Saturday,” his ego dictating his words more than common sense at that point.  “I sincerely want to get to know you better.” 

Regina laughed at his persistence and said, “If you are going to pick me up you will pick me up at my home, like a gentleman.  Unless you are afraid to come to the ghetto, Mr. Rivers . . . ,” her voice trailing off leaving a trail of innuendo and challenge. 

At that moment, Doug wanted to say, “My roommate in college was Black,” but he had attended enough of those damn sensitivity workshops to know that would be digging a deeper hole for himself.  Regina had scribbled her address on a post-it and extended it to him as an unspoken invitation. “Eight it is,” he said.

Doug was pleasantly surprised at the neighborhood that Regina lived in.  Half because he expected her to live in the ghetto and half because it looked relatively affluent and ALL Black.  He knocked on the door promptly at 8, hoping he could ease his guilt, have a drink and have her home by 9:30.  Then it would be on to a wild night of drinking and partying with the boys. 

Doug could barely believe his eyes when she opened the door.  Gone was the navy blue polyester uniform and conservative demeanor of the night security guard.  Before him was an astonishingly beautiful woman.  Her hair was down, rather than in a severe bun, and it framed her lovely face.  Her eyes were dramatic and smoky and her lips were seductive red.  She was wearing a gold colored blouse that came off the shoulder and a rust colored silk skirt that hugged her full hips, thighs and round ass.  Her smooth legs were bare and she had the tiniest high-heeled sandals that looked like nothing more than a delicate leather string that went across her perfectly pedicured toes and around her ankles.  She smelled like a mix of coconut and jasmine and something else . . . something feminine.  Her brown skin was luminescent and staring at her curvaceous figure and dazzling smile he wondered momentarily how he had not found Black women more attractive previously.  Regina was nothing less than breathtaking.

At that moment, Doug knew he was in over his head.  He quickly changed his game plan and decided to take her to his favorite exclusive martini and cigar bar.  If there was ever an atmosphere for seduction, it was there.  It was dark and secluded and the perfect environment for some sensual interplay . . . or foreplay if he was lucky.  He wasn’t sure if this was a game anymore or pure desire. 

Regina controlled the conversation, her wit, charm and intellect completely blowing Doug out of the water.  When she laughed she leaned in close and put her hand on his thigh, when she listening to his tales of mergers, takeovers and general male bravado, she licked her lips seductively and maintained her seductive eye contact.  The semi-erection Doug sported all night served to make his stories more animated and his movements guarded. 

After a few drinks and more than enough flirtation, Regina took control.  “Mr. Rivers,” she leaned in close,” Let’s drop the pretenses here, shall we? There’s enough chemistry between us to win the Half Hollow Hills Annual Science Fair.  Let’s go back to my place and see what happens.  No strings.” 

Doug swallowed hard.  He had never been with a Black woman before.  He wondered silently if it would look different, taste different, feel different.  What would his friends say?  Would they be able to tell just by looking at him that he was “different”?  A million thoughts raced through his head.  Only one word came out.  “Sure.”

He was out of his element in her home.  It was beautifully decorated, immaculate and filled with exquisite examples of Black artwork.  Doug never before considered that Black people would have all Black people in their artwork.  He hadn’t even considered that such a genre existed.  He sat nervously as she went to make herself more comfortable.  She emerged from the bedroom in a white satin nightgown.  Her nipples poked through the shiny material and her full breasts were overflowing.  In her bare feet now, she sat close to him to resume her seduction. 

Doug’s eyes couldn’t focus.  He wanted to touch her hair to see if it felt different, touch her skin to see if it felt like the velvet he imagined it to look like.  His body was alive with electricity.   “What am I doing here,” he kept thinking to himself, “she’s the overnight security guard?”    No matter what her job, or his for that matter; he knew he wanted her with every ounce of his being. 

Breaking the ice, Regina leaned in close and kissed Doug.  Her lips tasted like the slightest hint of strawberry.  Doug closed his eyes and felt his male instinct take over.  Gone were the roles and the titles, this was a man and a woman and she was about to receive every bit of his all out maneuvers.  He was intoxicated with her full lips and soft tongue.  As he cradled the back of her head he marveled at how soft her hair was.  His hands roamed freely over her curves, caressing gently her small waist and sexy bottom. 

At that point Regina was a simmering hotbed of hormones.  She didn’t give a damn if it was Duke of Windsor on her sofa, she was aroused, he was a man, and she was a woman.  They kissed more passionately, the fever rising higher.  She could feel the wetness between her legs increase.  She felt for his dick, half expecting to be disappointed.  It wasn’t the biggest dick she’d ever felt in her life but it seemed formidable enough to do the job.  It certainly was hard and it belonged to a man that was the object of her desire at that particular moment.  She placed his hand in hers and said, “let’s go.” 

The trail of men’s clothing that led to her bedroom looked like a fitting room at Saks during their annual blowout sale.  For a moment it was looking doubtful that they would make it to the bedroom at all.  Regina had lit candles and incense when she had changed her clothes so the room was warm, almost too warm, and the scent made Doug slightly light headed.  She stood before him and lowered the straps to her gown and sensuously stepped out of it, glowing in the candlelight. 

Doug was so hard it almost hurt and he was leaking precum like a teenager.  His own insecurities flashed in his mind momentarily.  “Will I be enough to satisfy her,” he thought?  Sensing his reluctance, Regina kissed him again, this time more animalistic than before.  She stroked him and whispered in his ear, “I want you,” to allay any of his imagined and unfounded fears. 

“Suck my titties, Mr. Rivers,” the exchange of power completely evident even with her use of his surname.  Regina was in control of this ship.  The weight of her breasts captivated him.  He had never in his life felt tits that big AND real.  He suckled and nursed for pleasure and comfort, wanting to bury his face in between them. 

Regina eased herself back on the white down comforter and Doug sucked and followed suit.  He positioned himself between her legs and made himself more comfortable.  His hands found her sweet center and he said, “Oh my god, you are soooo wet.” 

He held his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply her scent.  He licked her fingers and tasted her sticky, sweet, salty, earthy juices.  He was in heaven.  He spread her legs further apart to view all of her.  He clit stuck out and was begging to be sucked.  Her lips parted to reveal a pink center that was glistening with moisture.  Regina spread her pussy lips and finger fucked herself just inches away from his face.  He was mesmerized.  She pulled her fingers out and sucked her juices. 

Her raw sensuality almost drove Doug over the edge.  He put his lips to her core and tasted her sweetness, assured it was the best tasting pussy he’d ever had.  He wanted to live up to the reputation white boys had about being the best at oral sex.  He licked, sucked, tongued, and licked some more.  He kept his eyes open so he could see everything.  Regina grabbed his head and held it to her pussy as she had a series of mini orgasms in his mouth.  He had no desire to stop eating her.  He licked even more, encircling his arms around her thighs to ensure that she could not get away. 

“Oh shit, white boy, eat my pussy,” the sweet melody of her voice a different kind of honey to feed his appetites.  He was ready to explode.  “Come here baby and let me return the favor.” 

Doug’s head was spinning.  He had to make a judgment call then and there.  He was at the peak of his arousal.  A few seconds of those soft, wet lips on him and he was surely going to shoot his load.  He had to prioritize.  Feeling that pussy was first and foremost on his agenda.  This might be a once in a lifetime opportunity.  He paused, and as if reading his mind, Regina whispered, “Don’t worry.  Before the night is over I’ll have you in my mouth, pussy and ass if you are lucky.” 

He groaned in a fog of disbelief and arousal.  He straddled her face and hesitated.  For a brief second, he wondered if it was politically correct to assume a superior position over Regina.  Not only was she an employee but the centuries of disproportionate power whites had over blacks also played on his mind.  He knew deep in his heart that she was every bit his equal but he hesitated.  All reservations quickly disappeared as he felt her full lips envelop him.  “Oh shit, suck my cock, that feels so good.” The magic her lips created erased all doubt.  Her mouth was an erotic vacuum, coaxing his cum out of his balls.  He closed his eyes for the first time during the evening and fucked her mouth like it was a pussy.  He saw lights behind his eyes as he shot spurt after spurt of cum in her mouth. 

He collapsed in silence next to her and lay in silence.  Embarrassment and insecurity crept over him.  Tonight had been an eye-opening experience and quite possibly the best sexual experience of his life.  He wanted more but was unsure how to ask for it.  Unsure of what to say or do he lay there motionless, pretending to drift off to sleep, fully awake and semi erect. 

Regina snuggled next to him and stuck her tongue in his ear as she whispered.  “Come on lover.  I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”  She got up on her hands and knees and presented him with a view of perfection.  Sweet, soft mounds of Ebony flesh presented to him for his pleasure, the promised land lay within his reach.  He knelt behind her and held his erection to her opening; the contrast in color was intoxicating.  Never in his life had he seen anything so sexy.  Never in his life had he felt so alive.  Transformed, it seems by the overnight security guard. 

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Long Distance Love

You have to work really hard to maintain the delicate equilibrium of a long distance relationship in order to make it work. The time apart, the distance, the lack of stability can wear on anyone’s nerves. Even under the best of conditions, fragile long distance relationships can disintegrate, even if both parties want it to work. Chris Henderson and Michelle Givens seemed to be the exception to the rule.

They met quite by happenstance. Chris was in Atlanta on a business trip. While he was checking into the Hyatt, minding his own business, he noticed a woman carrying a rather large painting, trying to navigate the heavy glass revolving door of the lobby with the large canvas. He ran to her assistance, holding the side handicap door for her like a gentleman would do, his midwestern manners integrating well into his temporary southern residence.

As she passed, sparks of electricity singed his very soul, igniting a chemical reaction that could have caused an explosion. She maneuvered her heavenly body through the door, positioning the painting as a barrier between them. For a brief moment, they both froze, maintaining intense eye contact. Chris took in every detail. Her butterscotch colored skin was flawless and her naturally curly hair was pulled tightly on top of her head and exploded in a poof of curly q’s. Her full, sensual lips looked so inviting, her smoky eyes were captivating, and her fragrance smelled like a delicious blend of fruit and flowers. The stood eye to eye, taking in details of one another, held captive by an immovable force of attraction. As she eased her way past Chris, she whispered the words, “Thank you,” softly. Chris watched her lips part and he was captivated by the way her pink tongue seemed to sensually caress her ruby colored lips and sort of make love to her words.

“Whoooo was that? Do you know who that woman is? She’s breathtaking,” Chris asked the desk manager, staring back at the doors, watching the captivating woman delicately arranging paintings in the back of a plain white van.

“Oh, that’s Michelle Givens. She’s the director of the Apex Museum here in Atlanta. They lend us paintings for the lobby every February for Black History Month. I have her business card and a brochure here if you want to check it out.” Chris fingered the card, distracted as he watched her drive off. The manager added, “Yeah, she is pretty hot,” as the two men shared a moment of appreciation for her beauty.

Barely able to concentrate, Chris couldn’t wait to pay a visit to the Apex later that afternoon. He was trying not to look conspicuous as he browsed around, trying to run into her again.

“Did you see something you were interested in today,” Michelle queried as she approached him?

Chris turned to face her and was again overwhelmed with her professionalism, sophistication, and sheer beauty. He took the flirtation ball and ran with it. “Very much so. In fact, I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of what I saw today, I had to make it my business to come and let you know personally.” He reached for her hand, held it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Michelle was overwhelmed by his charm in that moment and the rest, as they say, is history.

The two became rather inseparable from that moment on, at least every time Chris was in town for business. They would dine together, go to various museums on the weekends; Chris would even attend all the events Michelle coordinated for the Apex. He was extremely proud of her and it became increasingly more difficult to return to Chicago after they would spend time together. Illinois became bland in comparison his time in Georgia and was losing its appeal the more Chris realized that Michelle was his soul mate.

It was their perfect, symbiotic relationship the fueled them. Neither of them had to compromise themselves or their identities to be with the other. Chris loved that Michelle was so unconditionally supportive of him and his endeavors. He felt like he could accomplish anything with Michelle by his side. She loved that she didn’t have to sacrifice her independence to conform to an identity outside of her comfort zone. They just fit well together.

It was sexually, however, where their compatibility went off the charts. Never before in his life had Chris met a woman who understood his desires and matched them so perfectly. Every fantasy, every fetish, every kink, Michelle mirrored in delicious desire. It was as if they were created from the same erotic mold.

The time spent apart was becoming more unbearable. After nine months of long distance love and what was sure to be a tumor forming from endless hours of talking on the cell phone every night, Chris was contemplating ways in which he could make the relationship more permanent. He fingered the ring box in his pocket nervously as he deboarded the plane. Michelle was there to meet him, looking as stunning as ever, and her eyes lit up when she saw her man struggling with his two carryon bags. He took her in his arms and held her close. It never failed that every time he saw her, he felt the same jolt of electricity in his body as the first time he laid eyes on her. She kissed him rather sensually and every man in business class that was behind him felt a stab of lustful envy.

Michelle seemed to be particularly excited to see Chris and she was anxious to get home. She let him take the wheel and she sat in the passenger seat and wasted no time lowering her mouth to Chris’ lap and removing his hard dick from his pants, sucking him while he was doing 70 miles per hour on I-75. He was trying to concentrate on driving safely but it was damn hard to do that with his incredibly sexy girlfriend giving him the best head of his life.

He pulled the car into her garage and he was practically undressing before the ignition was off. Michelle had other plans and left Chris in the carport to get his belongings as she rushed inside with a mischievous smile on her face. Chris unloaded his bags, brought them inside, hung up his coat, and made his way to the kitchen, being led by the aromas of a fabulous seafood meal that was simmering on the stove. He was opening pots and inhaling delectable smells when Michelle approached him from behind. “Welcome home,” she said. Chris felt so at home, so at peace, she was reminded of the important question he wanted to ask Michelle.

He turned around and was caught off guard as he took in the full image of his ladylove. She was wearing black latex thigh-high boots and a matching latex bra. Completing her outfit was a black strapon dildo sticking out from her body. He felt a lump in his throat and instinctively dropped to his knees. He wrapped his lips around the hard black dick and looked up at his lover. She placed her hands on the back of his head and guided him to suck it. Turned on, she started pumping her full hips, fucking his mouth as Chris struggled to free his raging hard dick from his pants, stroking it in time to the pumping his mouth was getting.

They were both too turned on to make it to the bedroom so Michelle signaled for Chris to stand up. She bent him over the kitchen counter and reached for a bottle of olive oil to pour on her strapon. There was something primal about fucking in the kitchen, with his pants around his ankles and his face pressed against the cold granite. Chris looked back at Michelle, pulled his asscheeks apart with both hands, and said, “What are you waiting for, girl, FUCK ME!”

Never one to disappoint, Michelle lined up the head of the Ebony strapon with his tight hole and pushed forward. She was slow but she was relentless, not stopping until every inch was buried deeply in Chris’ ass. He started grinding, squirming, and begging her to fuck him harder, deeper. They were grunting, groaning, moaning and fucking like animals. “Yeah, you like this hard dick in your hole, don’t you baby? You love me fucking you like you’re my little bitch. Michelle clearly knew all the right buttons to push for her man to turn him on.

“Fuck me harder!”

“Take it deeper!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit!”

There was no stopping the endless string of profanity and the intense heat that the sexy pair was giving off. Michelle was like a machine, pounding him with a steady rhythm, using his asshole for her pleasure. Chris was about to explode, in love with the sexy woman with whom he was so connected, literally and figuratively. He could smell her pussy, wet with excitement. He could feel her strapon deep inside him. They were both rushing to orgasm. Michelle was like a woman possessed and Chris was out of his mind. He was fucking her back and begging her to give it to him deeper. He stroked his dick; it was aching it was so badly. He shut his eyes tightly and reveled in the pleasure he was experiencing in every pore of his body as he felt the sensations overtake him.

Michelle kissed him softly and pulled him towards the bedroom for rounds two and three. They were sure to enjoy all sorts of sexy and loving encounters in the upcoming week. He scrambled to pull up his pants and check for the ring he would present to her later that evening, assured that he had found his perfect match and the end to his long distance love.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK