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.

Showing posts with label adultery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adultery. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Neighborly Hospitality

Unannounced visitors were not very common, especially in the middle of the day, so when the knock came at the door for Lisa Ingles, she was caught a little off guard.  Little did she know that she was about to be introduced to a world of experiences that would shift her reality and alter her life completely.  Little did she know that she was about to become an entirely new woman.

She opened the door to find herself staring, face to face, with a beautiful black woman who looked more like she belonged on a runway in Paris or New York as opposed to a quiet, unassuming street in Alpharetta.  Her face was made up in a way that was flawless, highlighting her chocolate brown complexion that looked as smooth as silk and her hypnotic eyes and full sensual lips.  She was wearing a tight black leather vest that pushed her breasts up and put them on display like a set of pillowy mounds of soft flesh.  Her expensive designer jeans hugged every curve and you can rest assured that she had curves.  She was wearing rather expensive shoes as well; not that there was much of them, it was a pair of dangerously high heels made up of just a few strips of black leather that crossed her toes and wrapped around her ankles and formed a perfect canvas for her coral colored toenails that complimented her beautiful brown skin.  Lisa, forgetting all her manners, simply stood and stared.  Waiting patiently for the usual initial shock to wear off and extending her hand, she said, “Hi neighbor, my name is Syreeta and I’m going to be moving in next door and I wanted to stop by and introduce myself.” 

Regaining her composure, Lisa shook of look her initial surprise and invited her guest in.  She felt rather underdressed in her workout clothes and she tried to hide her insecurity by being gracious.  “Steven did mention that he might be moving but I really don’t have that much interaction with him; I wasn’t even aware that he’d moved.  Welcome to the neighborhood, I’m Lisa.  My husband Brad is at work now but it’s very nice to meet you.  Please do sit down.  Would you like some coffee?” 

Syreeta’s demeanor was graceful and friendly.  She politely declined the offer for coffee and asked for some bottled water instead.  “Actually, Steven is just renting the place to us for a couple of months.  My boyfriend got a job here with CNN and I told him that I’d give him a few months to see if I could adapt to life in the burbs.  I’m hoping it’s remotely reminiscent of Wisteria Lane because I’d hate to think the most excitement that there is to be found out here is a concert at Chastain.”  

Lisa laughed along with her, rather nervously, knowing that there was little excitement north of the perimeter compared to the Desperate Housewives melodrama.  Syreeta was delightful, engaging in fact, and wove enticing tales of being a model in New York and how she and her boyfriend, Dixon, had met when he was Director of Marketing at the Lincoln Center.  As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and it was Dixon, coming to inquire about the whereabouts of his other half.

“I’m sorry, but I really need to steal Syreeta back to help me finish painting.”  Lisa stared again.  Dixon was 6 feet tall and had the same cocoa brown complexion of his lover.  His body showed evidence of many workouts and his t-shirt and sweat pants indicated that he had been working up a sweat getting things ready in the new house. 

Syreeta rolled her eyes and apologized about taking up too much time; looking like she was looking for any excuse to get out of doing work.  “Hey, want to come over for dinner on Saturday?  Bring the hubby and let’s make it a foursome, okay?”  With that, she leaned over and kissed Lisa on the cheek like they were long lost friends.  It was a little more intimate than Lisa was expecting and it gave her a thrill somehow, not really sure why but aware that there was some sort of unspoken exchange of electricity in the room. 

Lisa shut the door and was alive with sensation but she didn’t quite know why or what to do about it.  Her pussy was tingling and her clit was throbbing.  She hadn’t masturbated in years.  In fact, she couldn’t really remember the last time she’d been really horny.  On the rare occasion she felt like she wanted some sexual release she would get in bed with her husband and say, “Honey . . . “ and that was indication that he should get under the covers and go to work.  He’d lift up her conservative cotton nightgown and lick her to orgasm and the entire ordeal would be over without much else being said.  Lisa couldn’t wait for Brad to get home.  Every step she took she was reminded of her swollen pussy lips and the moisture that soaked her panties.  Had it been merely Syreeta’s presence that had aroused such fever?  She thought perhaps that the reason she was so horny must have been Dixon, with his muscular body flexing beneath his t-shirt and invoking fantasies of the forbidden.  Unable to concentrate, Lisa took a shower, aimed the showerhead directly on her clit, and fingered herself to a mind-blowing orgasm in the afternoon. 

All week long, Lisa was filled with new erotic sensations.  She started dressing up a little more during the day, wearing more makeup and more revealing clothing, and she would demand that Brad lick her to orgasm at night.  Closing her eyes, she would get lost in vague fantasies, fantasies of brown skin and heated passion and shadowy images of intense fervor that her body longed to feel.  Brad noticed the change in her conduct and loved every second of it.  Her libido was reawakened and she was more commanding in the bedroom.  Her orgasms seemed more intense; she seemed more determined to use his mouth for her pleasure. 

Brad appreciated the renewed sexual activity.  He would slide out of bed after having finished servicing his wife and sit in front of his computer screen.  His cock wouldn’t stay hard for sex but it sure as hell felt good when he pulled on it and looked at porn.  Mostly, he looked at images of white women being savagely fucked by gangs of black men.  He dreamt of Lisa being used and fucked by thick, long black cocks, his heart would flutter with jealousy, and his cock would drip with arousal.  He would stroke and dream of seeing her well-used cunt, dripping with cum and his mouth would water, fantasizing about the opportunity to tasty the sweet evidence of her infidelity.  He’d never dare mention any of his thoughts to his wife; she would never understand his deep desire to see her being fucked by a black man.  It just wasn’t something southern white women would even contemplate and it wasn’t something white men were supposed to jerk off to so he was content to live in secrecy and denial.

Lisa and Syreeta were spending more time together as the days passed.  By Friday night, by the time Brad came home, Syreeta and Lisa were giggling and whispering like teenagers and Dixon had to come retrieve his girlfriend, yet again, because they were going to be late for a very important dinner reception.  Syreeta winked at Lisa and said, “So we are soooo excited to see you tomorrow night for dinner.  Can’t wait in fact.”  She kissed Lisa goodbye, this time fully on the mouth, and it seemed to linger a little longer than one would expect and Brad felt a pang of jealousy that gave him a raging hardon.  Dixon just rolled his eyes, gave Brad a knowing wink, and ushered his lovely companion off for the evening.  They were barely out the door before Lisa had Brad on his knees licking her to orgasm in the kitchen. 

Saturday was the day of reckoning.  The kids had been packed up for sleepover dates with their friends and Lisa was in rare form.  All day long, it seemed like she couldn’t get enough oral sex and she was even getting more verbal than usual, more dominate in her commands.  “Get on your knees and eat my pussy.  Yeah, suck it.  I bet Dixon doesn’t have a worthless cock.  I bet he can get it up to fuck Syreeta and he doesn’t have to eat her out all the time.  I bet she gets that big hard black cock rammed in her pussy all the time.  I bet he has a gigantic cock” Her dialogue seemed to drive them both over the edge and they were soon both cumming like crazy; Brad wanking away while he drove his tongue deeply inside his lovely wife and Lisa practically suffocation her hubby by riding his face. 

Neither of them had the nerve to discuss the dynamic that was evolving between them.  They seemed to exist very happily with their unspoken new raison d’etre.  As Lisa prepared for their dinner date Brad could barely contain himself.  She put on a brand new outfit, one that she and Syreeta had picked out at the Northlake Mall.  The skirt was dangerously short and showed off her well toned legs.  The top was low cut as well and displayed her tits in a way that most mothers of 2 couldn’t do at 37 years old.  She put on a thong and, at the last minute, bent over in front of Brad and slid it off.  He practically shot a load in his pants then and there.  He couldn’t get over the transformation of his wife and how she’d become so sexual in such a short period of time. 

They knocked on the door at exactly 8 PM and Syreeta greeted them and invited them in.  They had decorated they house such that it didn’t even look like it belonged on such a quiet little enclave, it looked like something out of an interior design magazine.  Brad was expecting something more outlandish, like on MTV Cribs because that’s all he’d ever really known of Black wealth.  He had to check his own biases at the door because Dixon and Syreeta were far from stereotypical, they were two intelligent, articulate, extremely sophisticated people, and they seemed to be wildly in love with one another. 

Brad handed Dixon a bottle of wine and they went off to the dining room to enjoy a sumptuous meal of French onion soup, curry roasted duck, roasted asparagus with garlic, and focaccia bread while listening to some rarely heard tracks from John Coltrane.  The evening was flowing seamlessly and everyone but Brad seemed to have this secret that they were keeping.  The more wine that flowed, the more the unspoken glances were exchanged, and private jokes passed.  Brad laughed nervously as they seemed to be laughing at his expense. 

After dinner, they foursome retired to the living room and shared some cognac.  The alcohol had loosened Lisa’s inhibitions and she sat next to Dixon, ignoring Brad completely, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation about jazz when it was more than obvious she was simply using that as a pretense to press her body next to his.  Syreeta seemed to be running interference for her new friend, trying to distract Brad with conversation about Real Estate and things that would keep his focus off their respective partners.  Syreeta pulled Brad to the backyard with the pretense of looking at property lines and when they returned to the living room, Dixon and Lisa were nowhere to be found.  When Brad inquired where they went, Syreeta implied that it was nothing he should be worried about, that they were probably just getting better acquainted. 

Better acquainted was an understatement.  While Brad and Syreeta were in the living room making casual conversation about fixed mortgages, Lisa was in the bedroom, on her knees, with both hands wrapped around Dixon’s cock, stroking it and coaxing out precum to lick off.  That had been the plan for the better part of the week; Lisa was going to get fucked like she needed it and Dixon was going to serve up the dick like only he knew how.  She and Syreeta planned and plotted over coffee how she was going to become an insatiable slut right under Brad’s nose.  This was Lisa’s moment of reckoning.  Dixon pulled her tits out of her top and squeezed her nipples hard.  Lisa moaned and begged for him to do it harder, shocked at her own desires.  She wrapped her lips around his cock and started sucking it like a wanton whore.  Dixon grabbed her brown hair, pulled it like he was pulling reigns on a philly, and started fucking her mouth hard.  She was choking on that cock but she refused to stop sucking.  She was trying to get him to cum in her mouth.  She’d never let Brad cum in her mouth in their 12 years of marriage but she wanted to take Dixon’s load more than anything.  The harder he fucked her mouth, the more she licked and sucked and swallowed every black inch.  Lisa was up for the challenge and taking it all. 

Her pussy was throbbing and dripping and she was ready for the main course without much foreplay but Dixon had other plans.  He tossed her on the bed and pushed her tits together.  Her tits were a present from her husband for her 35 birthday and he grabbed them and squeezed them, he even slapped them at Lisa’s request.  She was craving rough treatment and she couldn’t get enough.  She was mesmerized his brown skin in contrast to her pale flesh.  Dixon alternated between fucking her tits and fucking her mouth and he was making sure that Lisa was aware of her place as his plaything with his words.  “Look at you, you nasty cunt, sucking my big black cock. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never be satisfied with your husband’s little prick again.  You’ll be begging me to bend you over and ram this big dick in you.  You love this, don’t you?  You know I’m about to fuck you senseless, don’t you?”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Brad was getting more and more uncomfortable as time passed.  He kept looking towards the master bedroom, wondering if he could hear signs of sex or if it was just his imagination.  His cock was rock hard at the thought of his wife, merely feet away, getting filled with the cock of her black lover.  He couldn’t hide his arousal and he was trying to discretely rub himself.  Syreeta could sense his distraction and she toyed with him, whispering in his ear as she taunted him.  “He’s fucking her right now, you know that, don’t you?”  He’s got her bent over and he’s ramming his huge dick in her from behind, stretching her and filling her like you never could. 

Brad couldn’t swallow.  His eyes were glued in the direction of the bedroom and he was in a trance.  He’d never been more turned on in his entire life. 

“Oh god, it hurts.  Please, don’t stop.”  Brad choked for air as he could clearly hear the sounds of his wife’s cries coming from the bedroom.  His wife was engaged in some serious fucking and he didn’t know what to do.  Syreeta toyed with him as he strained to hear more.  He was sure he could hear the sounds of the headboard hitting the wall and Dixon groaning and telling his wife how good her tight white pussy was.  He was correct.  Lisa was on her hands and knees, getting banged hard, her tits flapping as a hard black cock hit her in places that hadn’t been touched in years.  Dixon had his thumb in her ass and he was threatening to fuck her there.  Lisa was begging for it loud enough for Brad to hear.  “Oh yes, fuck me hard, use my white pussy, fuck me good and hard.  Make me your white slut, I love your big hard cock.  Use my holes for your pleasure.  I want to feel your cum dripping from my pussy and my asshole.  I want your jism in my belly.  Oh yesss, I want to eat Syreeta’s sweet black pussy while you bang me hard from behind.  I’m a nasty, filthy, dirty slut for your cock.  Oh, shit.  I’m going to cum.  Please, leave your load in me.  Please give me your cum.  I’m cumming, I’m cumming.  Oh fuck I’m cumming.  She was cumming harder than she’d cum in years.  “Yes, Dixon, cum inside meeeeeee.  Please.”

In the living room, Brad was practically crying.  It was his dream come true, his fantasy made reality but he wasn’t there to witness it.  He wanted to ask Syreeta if he could lick her pussy but he wasn’t sure of the proper protocol.  He wanted to take his cock out and jerk it off with his ear pressed to the bedroom door.  He looked a Syreeta and she seemed calm, cool, and collected, like she and Dixon has done this plenty of times before.  He wondered briefly how they could have such an open relationship, one based on such freedom and communication. 

Lisa emerged from the bedroom, dressed, but disheveled.  She looked drained but glowing.  Her footsteps were shaky and she walked to Brad and kissed him squarely on the mouth.  He could taste the evidence of a sex on her lips.  Exhausted, she whispered, “Let’s go home.  Dixon and I made a special dessert just for you.”  Brad thanked Syreeta for the lovely meal and they hurried off next door, to enjoy the fruits of their experience and reap the creamy rewards. 

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Theory of Relativity

All this Ashley Madison drama has me thinking.  There are potentially more than 30 million spouses that could find out that their mate has cheated on them in the very near future.  What is the appropriate reaction to discovering that you have been cheated on?    If you are in love, if you are in a committed relationship, if you have given your heart and your life to one person, what is the appropriate response to finding out your partner/spouse has betrayed your trust?  I'm going to assume that you aren't also cheating on your mate.  Then, the only appropriate, mature response is to walk away, no hard feelings on either person's behalf. 

But what if you are faithful and your partner cheats, how should you react?  The cheater always assumes that the person cheated on should take the high road, they always act as if the person betrayed should just suck it up and walk away and they shouldn't show any emotion, they shouldn't show any anger, they shouldn't try to get revenge.  Society in general is always quick to say that the betrayed shouldn't waste their energy on any sort of revenge, any sort of willful intention to hurt the person back. 

But, is that really reasonable?  If you have made love to someone, if you have shared your body, your secrets, your dreams, your fears with someone, if you have truly given your heart to someone, if your heart has been broken and your trust betrayed, even the most sane, reasonable person should be expected to feel extreme rage and anger when you discover that the person you were building a life with has decided that your feelings, that you mean nothing to them.  In my mind, only an insane person would react with no reaction at all.  That, to me, indicates, being so out of touch with your emotions that you are incapable of processing them.  

Clearly, you shouldn't physically harm anyone but isn't that asking a lot of the human heart to not seek any sort of salve for your pain?  I can think of no greater pain than being betrayed by your life partner.  I think society's insistence that injured party just suck it up and hold their head up high with dignity . . . I'm pretty convinced that's extremely unhealthy.  We are sentient beings and we are supposed to process our emotions, we are supposed to feel.  The concept of letting an individual who has inflicted tremendous personal pain on their mate just walk away, not having learned a painful lesson, seems delusional to me.  One of the reasons I think we are so unhealthy as a society is that we have this obsessive need to present fake images of perfection, facades of one-dimensional pictures that aren't realistic. 

So, is burning all your mate's clothing acceptable? Is a lost wardrobe really that detrimental for the crime committed?  Is going to his or her job and embarrassing them okay?  If your cheating spouse is embarrassed, if they are humiliated by co-workers, is that something they won't be able to rebound from?  Is outing them as a cheater to their friends and family acceptable?  What about doing something to the person your partner was cheating with?  Should they escape your wrath because it's socially unacceptable?  Cheating, lying, betrayal should be unacceptable but it seems as if society is telling the victims of adultery that they should just suck it up and be the better person and their their perpetrators walk away with their own guilt as their only punishment.  Where is the line?  What is the appropriate, acceptable response when someone rips your heart out and steps on it? 

Are we as a society so obsessed with pretending to be perfect that we've lost perspective of the fact that for every action, there must be an equal and opposite reaction? 

A primer for disgusting cheaters

If you are in a relationship and you aren't happy, if you want to have sex with other people, tell your partner BEFORE you cheat.  Let them have the dignity of leaving with their self-esteem.  Cheating hurts.  It's a betrayal of trust.  If you cheat, if you hurt your girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband, you are leaving an emotional scar that doesn't just go away.  You have changed them for the worse, you have broken their heart in ways that can't be repaired. 

If you tell them you are unhappy, if you tell them that you don't want to be with them any more, if you are HONEST with them before you cheat, you will hurt their feelings but people can rebound from that.  If you betray their trust, you have destroyed a part of their soul.  Be mature.  If you love sex with different people more than your family, more than your partner, don't bring anyone else down with your deception, lies, and betrayal.  You might get a thrill sneaking, lying, and having sex in the back of your car but the consequences of your immaturity have lasting impact on more than just you. 

If you're single, if you sleep with married people because you don't want an emotional commitment, you are the very definition of immature.  You are hurting the spouse even if they don't know about you.  You are hurting a family, a parent has to look in their children's eyes and lie about where they were and what they were doing.  If you don't want someone cheating on you, don't be the person that someone cheats with. 

There are more than enough single people who will have sex with you.  If you have children and you think that staying with your spouse is better and cheating is better than leaving, you are a pretty shitty parent and your kids are much better off knowing that you are being honest, not lying, not cheating. 

And if you  have cheated in the past and you've gotten away with it, tell your partner/spouse.  Why?  Because it's the right thing to do.  Because they deserve to know the truth so they can be informed.  They can decide if they want to stay and try to work things out or they can decide if they want to leave.  Information is power.  Tell them because you should apologize sincerely for your immaturity and betrayal. 

Law and Order

There is this presumption that exists between most married couples in America.  “Oh, my husband/wife would never understand my interest in ___________,” and the blank is filled in with some sort of sexual behavior that is supposedly too extreme, arguably too outside the very conservative, frigid boundaries of their spouse for him or her even to wrap their minds around it, let alone accept it.  People hide their most authentic selves from the person they are supposed to be most connected to, most intimate with, the one person on the planet who they are supposed to feel close enough to share any secret and still feel loved.  That sort of honesty only happens in self-help relationship books and AfroerotiK erotic stories.  In the real world, people compartmentalize their sexuality, sharing their secrets and fantasies with virtual strangers on computer screens late at night and not only believing that their spouse would never understand their desires but that they are also incapable of being aroused by anything beyond missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out. 

Katie Largo was just such a woman.  She was a world-class slut of epic proportions and the type of white woman you would look at and say to yourself, “There’s no way in hell she even thinks about sex let alone enjoys it,” but you would lose all your money if you placed a wager on such a premise.  The homely, average, PTA president, and married mother of two was not only sexual, she was a connoisseur of the most filthy, nasty, perverse, depraved forms of sex possible.  There weren’t three people on the planet Earth who would look at her and call her attractive but that’s ultimately what drove her to be such nasty whore.  Standing 5’5” with mousy brown hair that was sort of limp and lifeless, Mrs. Largo hadn’t aged well.  Her misspent youth tanning left her skin leathery and spotted.  Childbirth left her with stretch marks and God’s unfair distribution of genetics left her quintessentially PLAIN.  Katie was a “real” desperate” housewife and she didn’t look anything like the women on the televisions shows. 

Katie wanted and needed to feel desirable.  She had an intense, deep-seeded need to feel sexy and that led her to late-night cam sessions and clandestined meetings with strangers in dark alleys and random lover’s cars to fulfill her need to feel wanted.  It was her compulsion.  She wallowed in immoral reverie night and day, always looking for another opportunity to feel her pussy get wet and her clit get hard at the illicit suggestion of one of her random fuck buddies.  She was, and is, so very typical of white women all across the country, in every town, in every city who feign indignation, shock, horror, and conservative outrage at anyone who gets caught cheating while she is committing the very same sin herself.  And because race is still such a taboo subject, and because Black sexuality is so deeply entrenched in white America’s secret lusts, it was not hard for her to rationalize that her husband would NEVER in ten million years understand her desire to be an insatiable, cocksucking slut for a very well-hung Black man.  That filled in her blank.

Max Moore understood Katie’s obsession with big black cock all too well because he had been her supplier.  They met on craigslist simply enough.  He responded to her ad seeking an illicit and intellectual liaison.  For the better part of a year, more off than on, he would amuse himself by giving her with all the ebony cock she could handle, sometimes more than she could handle, and by degrading and using her in any way his imagination could conjure.  Max was the exact opposite of Katie.  Charming, engaging, articulate, any and every person who gazed upon his countenance, both men and women, would be astonished at his beauty.  He was an attorney and at 6’ even he still had time to work out and obtain a body sculpted from hours of hard work in the gym, he was the personification of Ebony perfection.  His skin was the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate and looked like the smoothest of satin covering rippling, bulging muscles.  His facial features were smooth, distinct, refined.  His thick, wavy hair was well-maintained and short with a precise hairline sculpted by only the most skilled barber.  He had an infectious smile that radiated charm.  His pecs filled out all his shirts and his hardened nipples seemed to protrude like little pencil erasers.  His stomach was a washboard of abs and his ass sat high and tight on his back, full, round, and two globes of brown perfection.  His balls were hairy and full and hung heavy and low. 

It was his dick, however, that would have Katie ready to meet him at a moment’s notice to do anything and everything he told her.  Even flaccid, Max’s cock was still bigger than her husband John’s pathetic four-incher could ever manage to get.   When it was in its most glorious engorged and swollen state, Max’s cock was too big for Katie to handle.  It hurt her when he was pounding her relentlessly causing her to hold back tears while she was somehow simultaneously on the verge of orgasm.  She would be sore for days but that only served as a constant reminder of her illicit exploits and that would keep her aroused.  There were even a couple of times she had to pretend to have gotten a sore throat from a cold because Max had throat fucked her so hard, shoving his black cock so deep in her esophagus, that she lost her voice. 

Katie was nothing more than a fuck toy to Max, a thing to be used.  She wasn’t by any means a dumb woman she was just socially inept.  He listened half-heartedly to her incessant bitching about her mediocre life and her melodramatic complaints about her job, her sister, her husband, and her parents.  She complained about her in-laws, her kids, she even whined about her dog.  It never ended.  Every time she opened her mouth it was an endless string of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  It seemed she always had something stupid to complain about and she convinced herself that Max cared enough about her to really give a shit.  She was deluded.  Max saw her as a nasty, married white slut and she was entertainment, something to do to see how far he could push her.  Katie knew that under any other circumstances, she could never get a man like Max to pay attention to her; she knew that it was her sexuality that kept him coming back for more so she did her best to be the nastiest, sluttiest, dirtiest of all the women he played with.  If he gagged her, she begged to be spit on.  If he slapped her, she demanded that he choke her.  She would gaze up at him with pride when he pulled his stiffened rod from her asshole and she would suck it clean. 

Once, Max had Katie meet him at a bar downtown.  He told her to wear something slutty.  She ransacked her teenage daughter’s closet and got a tank top and a short skirt and wore a pair of conservative high heels she bought to go to an awards ceremony for her husband.  Sexy, she was not . . . not so much.  She looked a hot, damn mess: old, desperate, and trashy.  She showed up to meet Max and met him and three friends as well. She didn’t get all their names nor did she really didn’t care about them either; she was overjoyed at the prospect of Max showing her off like a trophy.  She sat down and they ordered her drinks and she felt like the bell of the ball.  Her pussy was soaking her sensible, cotton, white underwear through and through and the nipples of her tits poked through the cheap knit material of her top. 

Max and his friends plied Katie with alcohol and groped her openly.  They pulled off her panties and put them on the table for all to see; they made her spread her legs and they roughly fingered her cunt, daring her to cum in public.  Pulling out his dick, one of Max’s buddies forced her down on it under the table; the rest of the pack started making loud hoopin’ and hollerin’ noises loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons in the seedy establishment.  Katie’s brain registered it all as an affirmation of her attractiveness.  All the attention she was getting from the men, essentially all strangers, was a stroke to her ego. 

“Come on, bitch, I have to go take a piss,” and he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off in the direction of the men’s room like a child about to be spanked.  The bathroom in this establishment looked about the same as the rest of the place, a little outdated, a bit dirty, a lot dark, and totally inappropriate for a married mother of two to be hanging out in.  The bathroom itself had one stall, two urinals, and a double vanity sink with dark maroon-colored textured wallpaper and art deco light fixtures.  There was a barely detectable sheen of stale, semi-dry piss on the floor but that didn’t concern Max as he pushed Katie to her knees and told her to pull out his cock and start sucking.  For a split second, she glanced at the door, fully aware that it was unlocked and anyone could walk in, and had a chill of terror and arousal go up her spine.  Katie lived for and loved attention and the fact that someone was willing to put her in such a scandalous position made her temperature rise. 

When it came down to sucking cock, no one could ever argue about Katie’s skills.  That’s because she had none.  Her technique wasn’t particularly unique or sensual, her tongue not very talented, she did a mediocre suck job.  When Max got tired of her lame attempts, he would usually grab her head and skull-fuck her to completion, leaving her face dripping with his semen.  That night, just as he was about to brutally throat fuck her, the door flew open and Max’s friends crowded, into the small bathroom.

“Oh shit, what do we have here?  What sort of nasty bitch sucks dicks in a men’s room on the floor?  Max, where do you find these bitches?”  They all laughed and took turns watching the door as everyone lined up and pumped her mouth full of hard pricks and cum.  They all walked out, leaving her kneeling and covered and cum, temporarily ashamed at her own disgraceful behavior but alternately proud of her ability to be such an extreme slut. 

The time in between her meetings with Max was torture for Katie.  She would be obligated to have a lame romp with her husband once every couple of weeks.  He had no technique, no stamina, he never made her feel sexy; he never gave her that dangerous thrill she got from cheating.  Katie considered Max her real lover and she convinced herself that they had a deeper connection than they really did.  Max would tell her how she made his cock hard, how turned on he got thinking about her meeting him in the parking lot of her church to fuck or having a seedy rendezvous at a cheap motel and screwing the sheets off the bed and Katie would interpret that to mean that he wanted her.  She would calculate how and when they could meet again as soon as possible.  She might have fooled herself into thinking that they had some deeper connection but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that there weren’t other women vying for Max’s attention.  She made sure to send sexy pictures of herself, to write erotic stories, and send explicit text messages when she could to make sure that he knew that she was available and waiting for his instructions.  She loved his kinky mind and his ability to make her feel beautiful and dirty simultaneously. 

Katie had a Pavlovian response to getting an email from Max.  Before she could even get the email open, she was hot and bothered, her body showing signs of arousal.  She waited until she was alone, away from the kids and her hubby so she could rub her twat and type out a response.  She awoke early one Monday morning to an email waiting for her from Max with the subject line: Keeping you updated.  She had to read it several times before it all sunk in.  It essentially said that he had been dating someone for almost a month, that things were getting serious, and he didn’t have a need for her anymore, that he was focusing completely on his new lady love.  She responded by saying, “Oh, that’s really nice.  I’m happy for you.  Good luck.” The fact that she didn’t mean it was irrelevant.  What she really meant was, “What about me?  What about my needs?  What about what we shared?” 

By the end of the week, Katie was obsessed with worming her way back into Max’s life.  She wanted him to cheat on his lover with her, to want her so much that he turned his back on his girlfriend for the adrenaline rush of fucking her in a nasty bathroom.  She was sure that his new girlfriend couldn’t do that for him.  She knew that whoever this woman was, she wasn’t the sort of woman that could arouse him the way she did.  In her twisted and sexually immature mind, she reasoned that her vulgarity was some sort of gift to Max and that he treasured it.  She sent him an email saying, “Hey, you’ve been on my mind.  I would love to remain friends.  It seems a shame to throw away our chemistry and our connection. Maybe we can just email each other every once in a while, you know, keep in touch.” 

His response was short and very blunt. “Katie, what you and I had was not a connection, it was my experimentation in domination.  I get frustrated occasionally with all the racism and bigotry that surround me as a Black man in corporate America, all the oppression that white people bend over backwards to deny exists, and I just wanted to take out my frustration on you.  It was wrong, it was unhealthy, and it’s over.  I’m with a really amazing sistah right now and she’s and attorney as well.  We have a lot in common. She’s all I need to get by. I don’t want to jeopardize what I have with her for a meaningless fuck with you.  I hope you understand.  Take care and best of luck to you.” 

For any sane, reasonable person, that would have been sufficient.  But Katie wasn’t the most mentally stable person in the world.  Sure, she could hold down a good job and raise her children and clip coupons and keep her family organized but her concepts of sex and sexuality were warped.  Any attention she got from men was like a drug to her.  She needed the rush of feeling sexy, even if she was while being slapped around and being called a filthy whore in the process. 

Three full days hadn’t passed completely before she decided to send Max a video they had made together of her licking his ass.  She thought it was particularly erotic because she looked particularly hungry for it and it was so symbolic, to her at least, of her willingness to debase herself for his gratification.  She thought if she could just remind him of all the good times they shared, she could win his attention again.  She needed it. 

The response came quickly.  Katie could barely contain herself in the seconds it took for the email to open.  “Katie, this is Trenae, Maxwell’s girlfriend.  Do me a favor, don’t write him, call him, don’t text him; don’t send him videos of you doing nasty stuff.  Don’t send him any gifts and don’t post on his Facebook page.  Don’t communicate with him anymore.  PERIOD.  Please don’t disrespect me again by communicating with my man.  I hope I don’t have to tell you again because there will be repercussions if you do.” 

Katie froze.  Her adultery had always been compartmentalized, just between her and her lovers.  No one else ever knew about it.  She never confided in a friend or a counselor, even her sister.  She never left telltale clues for anyone to find she was that good.  She was cautious and secretive and regimented in her ability to make sure that her cheating ways were part of her secret identity.  Here, staring her in the face on her computer screen, was another person invading her private realm.  Someone else knew about her.  She wondered what Max had told this person, what details had he shared with her; what did this woman know about her life and could she pose a threat to her marriage? 

Katie felt like her world was spinning out of control; she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  Even when she would come home late at night, her breath stinking of another man’s cum, her holes used and abused, stretched out and raw, even if John awoke from sleeping to ask her where she’d been, she could make up a story about her book club or work or some lame excuse about being at her sister’s and he would NEVER suspect that she was cheating.  She’d never revealed her sexual desires to her husband so there was no way he would even comprehend that she needed anything more than a two minute hump every two weeks.  She relished those moments when she could push her luck, test fate as it were and almost get caught.  That was her way of feeling the excitement she was missing in her humdrum life.  She would intentionally put her cum-stained panties on the top of the pile of laundry just to test fate and see if her husband would notice the funk of another man’s sperm that had been in her pussy.  She did whatever she could do in order not to face the fact that she was an average looking woman with a mediocre life and absolutely no chance of making an impact on the world. 

It was in that moment however, reading the words of that email over and over again, that she felt an adrenaline rush like never before.  THAT was what cheating was all about!  All the lying and the sneaking wasn’t exciting if you were so good at it that there was never any chance of getting caught.  The hairs on her arms were standing up and heart was racing.  Her heart told her to be afraid, to delete Max’s email address and number and move on with her life but THIS was the excitement that had been missing from her life.  Her twisted little mind told her that she was going to figure out a way to get Max to continue their affair.  Her mind couldn’t even process all she was feeling.  All she knew was that she felt thrilling sensations and that was something that was tragically missing from her life. 

Katie calculated her moves strategically.  After several weeks, she decided on a course of action and she sent Max a text about 15 minutes after she thought he would be getting off work, assuming that would be a time when his girlfriend wasn’t with him.  She texted him saying that they needed to talk and asked when and where they could meet up.  It was several hours before she got a response.  It simply said, “OK, meet me on Friday night, 10pm, at the church parking lot where I fucked you before.” 

Thrilled wasn’t even the word to describe how elated Katie was in that moment.  She went to the mall to buy a real dress, something sexy just for the occasion.  She attempted to go to Nordstrom’s but didn’t even make it in the front doors.  She walked around Macy’s for the better part of an hour bewildered and confused, not sure what to try on.  Money wasn’t even the issue; she had more than enough to buy something outrageously expensive.  What she didn’t have was taste.  She could pick out clothing for work and church with no problems.  Trying to find something to wear to entice Max was an exercise in futility because, when all was said and done, she simply wasn’t sexy.  If clothes make the man, or woman in this case, then Katie might as well have worn the emperor’s clothing because anything and everything she touched looked like she was a bridesmaid at someone’s third wedding.  She ended up at Express, picking out a pair of shiny, indigo-blue, low-rise pants that showed off her muffin top and stretch marks and a rhinestone covered tunic top that covered all her imperfections and had a built in cup to hold up her tits.  She bought a pair of clunky stripper heels to complete the look.  She tried the entire ensemble on when she got home and felt really sexy.  She pranced in front of the mirror, trying to mimic moves other sexy women had in an effort to seduce Max one final time.  Except, if she had it her way, it wasn’t going to be the last time.  He was going to be so mesmerized by her vulgarity, her blatant sexuality that he was going to need her to fulfill the base and primal desires surely his girlfriend wouldn’t.

She didn’t have to make up an excuse to tell her husband where she was going, he was out of town on business.  Her daughter was having a sleepover with her friends and her son was home trying to sneak peeks at his sister’s friends and playing video games.  She told them that she was going to a movie and told them to behave and text her if they needed her.  She changed her clothes in the bathroom of a nearby McDonald’s and put on some pink lip gloss, a little too much mascara, the wrong color powder that made her look slightly older, and she brushed her hair and tossed it a few times to give it some body. 

She pulled into the parking lot of Zion Lutheran about 15 minutes early.  Sitting in her car and waiting for Max to show up, Katie reflected on the last time they met in this parking lot.  It was a cold winter evening, unlike this warm summer night.  His cock was hard and out when she got in his heated truck.  They didn’t even share small talk, he just pushed her head down on his dick and started fucking her mouth.  When all was said and done, after he had deposited his creamy load in her stomach, Max thought he noticed some sort of movement in the shadows.  He insisted on walking Katie to her car to make sure she was safe.  He held the door for her and gave her a hug and even waited until her car was warm and she drove off.  To Katie, that meant that he valued her, that he saw her as more than just a hole or three to fuck.  It made her feel beautiful and valued. 

Right on time, Max pulled into the parking lot in his shiny Black Tahoe, kept the engine running, and blinked the high beams to signal for Katie to join him.  She wobbled in her cheap shoes to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in.  Before the door was closed good, she heard a voice from the back seat, “Hello Katie.”  Horrified, Katie turned.  She knew instinctively that it was Trenae.  Katie panicked and reached for the door.

“Freeze,” Max said calmly, knowing full well that he had power over Katie that his girlfriend never could.  He was right.  She loved the assertiveness and alpha male attitude Max had, there was something biologically magnetic about his masculinity that made her melt to his will. 

“Now,” Trenae spoke softly, “I thought I told you, don’t contact my man ever again or there would be consequences. I did tell her that, didn’t I, Maxwell? Do you remember me telling her that?” 

They laughed, “Yes, baby, I remember that very clearly.” 

Turning to get a better look, the glow from the street lights illuminated Trenae just enough for Katie to realize she was out of her league.  Trenae’s outfit was flawless, even her makeup looked professionally done.  She was the type of women who would turn heads wherever she went.  She appeared to be the same height as Katie but it was clear that her deep, rich, ebony skin tone was without even the tiniest imperfection.  Her almond shaped eyes were enchanting; her full, African lips were pouty and inviting.  Her hair was a thick mass of kinks and curls.  It was more evident that she was Max’s equal aesthetically.  Katie, in that moment, felt all the fear and insecurity of a teenage girl in high school competing for attention for a boy with the captain of the cheerleading squad. 

Trying to figure out the fastest way out of this situation, realizing she was over her head and that they had set her up, Katie started negotiating.  “Listen, I’m sorry I contacted you Max,” speaking directly to him and completely ignoring Trenae, “I just wanted to talk . . . I . . . I . . . I just needed to make sure that my life was safe. That’s all.  You have to understand, I just couldn’t take the chance that she was going to tell my husband.  I  . . . I won’t . . . look, I just want to go home and I promise I won’t contact you again.” 

Trenae spoke up.  “Maxwell, does she look like she came here to just talk?  Looks like to me . . . I mean . . . to meeeeeee it looks like she came here to get fucked.  What does it look like to you?”    

“If I were a gambling man . . . and I am . . . I would put my money on the fact that she came here to get some of this dick.”  He grabbed his thick package and they laughed.  Katie’s face was flush with color.  She was seething inside, angry and trying to figure out how to take control of the situation but trapped by her own ego. 

Max put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street.  “Wait, where are we going?  I wanna go home,” Katie protested, “Let me out!”  She reached for the door handle like she was going to open it knowing full well that there was no way she was going to do that in a moving vehicle.  She was really starting to panic.  She didn’t know if they were going to hurt her or not.  All of her fears about how violent Black people are started flooding her brain.  She was hyperventilating and trying to hold back the tears.  She thought they were going to kill her, that she was going to be just like all those white women on the news who were kidnapped by Black men.  She could be forgiven for thinking that in the heat of the moment because she was too scared to realize that almost each and every allegation of a white women being kidnapped by a Black man was made up in an attempt by another adulterous married white whore to gain attention or get away from her husband.   Hot tears streamed down her face and smeared her makeup. 

Less than ten minutes later, they pulled into an underground parking garage and she pulled herself together enough to get her wits about her.  She hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going so she couldn’t have gotten back to her car if she wanted.  At least, she thought, she still had her cell phone. She could call a taxi to take her back to her car or call the police if she had to.  She didn’t want to do that just yet, she didn’t want to have to answer questions to her husband about a police report so she just waited to see what was going to happen. “Where are we?  What are you going to do to me? This is kidnapping.  If you let me go now, I promise not to call the police.” 

“I think you’ve forgotten something, Missy.  Max and I know the law a little bit better than you do.  We have proof that you wanted to meet with him.  It would be really hard for you to allege that we kidnapped you when you initiated the meeting,” Trenae responded casually as if she didn’t give a good god damn what Katie was threatening.  “You see, you broke the law, my law that I very specifically spelled out for you.”  Trenae got out of the truck and opened up the front door and held her hand out to help Katie down.  Katie defiantly ignored the gesture and held on to the door frame to get down.  Trenae continued as they all walked towards the door of a rather nice townhouse, Max leading the way.  “You know what happens when you break the law, Katie?  You have to suffer the consequences.  This here is the Trenae Roberts Justice system, and the people are represented by two separate but equally important factions: the bitch, that’s me, who investigates the crimes, and the black mother fucker, that’s Maxwell, who prosecutes the offenders.”  Trenae and Max burst out into outrageous laughter.  “You like that babe, I just made that up on the spot.  That was funny, right?”  They gave each other a fist bump and looked at Katie for some sign of acknowledgement that it was, in fact, hilarious.  Katie was not amused. 

Max unlocked the door and they all ascended a flight of stairs that lead to a living room; Katie could see a kitchen and dining room off to the left.  By this time, her nerves had calmed down a bit and she was just waiting for what was going to happen.  She didn’t think they were going to hurt her so she was trying to figure out how she was going to explain all this to her husband because surely, she thought, that was their goal, to destroy her marriage.  Katie was calculating how much of this she could lie, deny, and exactly how trapped her husband felt in his life of mediocrity for him to overlook her transgression and opt to stay in a marriage.  If Katie could just convince him that it was a one-time mistake that she would never do again she was sure all would be forgiven.  “What do you want from me?  Money?  Well, I’m not going to give you any.  I know how you people are.  If I give in to your blackmail, it will never stop.  Go ahead, tell my husband.  He loves me and he’ll forgive me.”  Reverse psychology was not a skill set she had mastered. 

Trenae rolled her eyes.  “Bitch, didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?  God damn!  Blackmail?  Dumb bitch.  Shut the hell up. You people?  Who the fuck does this bitch think we are, some sort of common criminals?  Give me a mother fucking break.”  Trenae’s tirade waned off into something incoherent as she and Max both went up another flight of stairs, leaving Katie sitting there, unattended. 

In that moment, sitting there alone, unsure of what to do, Katie Largo felt completely out of her element.  She was trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it but her curiosity got the best of her and she was quite convinced she couldn’t make it very far in her heels without her feet blistering and bleeding.  She wanted to stay, she wanted to see just what Max and Trenae had in store for her.  She wanted to stay to see it out to the end, whatever that meant.  She had done all this to herself.  The cheating, insisting on contacting Max again, if she had only been sane enough to just walk away, none of this would have been happening. 

At her core, in the deep recesses of her subconscious mind, she knew unequivocally that there was something wrong with her, that a normal, healthy, mature person wouldn’t have put themselves in this situation.  Her conscious mind told her, however, that it wasn’t people who looked like her who were motivated by lust, who made poor choices based on their libidos.  Katie was perfectly content to rationalize that she was justified for every single step she had taken thus far, she was OK with the lying, the cheating, the desperate and despicable behavior because her sexuality was so compartmentalized and dysfunctional, her self-perceptions of what it meant to be a married, white woman were so removed from her actual behaviors she could rationalize that everything she had done to date was acceptable. 

“Come here, bitch,” Max bellowed from upstairs.  Katie wobbled on her heels to the stairs and saw Trenae standing at the top of the staircase.  She was dressed in a pair of black panties, a matching bra, and heels that didn’t appear to belong to either a stripper or a hooker.  She did appear to be rather annoyed, however.  Katie didn’t even let it faze her and she ascended the stairs slowly.  When she got to the top of the stairs, Trenae stood firmly in the way between Katie and Max and she wouldn’t move.  She stood there stoically, silently waiting for Katie to ask permission to pass.  It was a test of wills, a showdown of woman vs. woman, a battle of the bitches.  Max appeared at a bedroom door off to the side, “What are you waiting for, bitch, I told you to come here?”

Feeling empowered, Katie physically pushed Trenae to the side and breezed past her to stand obediently by Max’s side.  She felt quite proud of herself, like she was serving her Master well, so much so that she was oblivious to the audible gasp of outrage and shock by both Max and Trenae.  To her credit, it wasn’t as if she was being intentionally disrespectful to Trenae it was just that Katie couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept that she was inferior to her.  She suffered from a form of cognitive dissonance, it was impossible for her to grasp that she didn’t possess some sort of inherent privileged status over Trenae.  In Katie’s mind, she had white skin and that meant that she had to mean more to Max on some hierarchal/genetic/intrinsic level.  To contemplate anything other than that would cause her brain to shut down. 

Even though she couldn’t articulate her beliefs, even though Katie had never once given an ounce of thought to her relationship with Black women (or more appropriately, the lack of a relationship with them) Katie had lived her entire, pathetic 48 years with the subconscious belief that she was better than Black women and never exposed herself to a person or experience that would challenge that belief.  She didn’t know anything about Black women, nor did she care.  She had never leafed through the pages of an Essence Magazine, she had never read a book by Toni Morrison or Alice Walker, she had never once seen Waiting to Exhale or The Color Purple; Katie had never had a real Black girlfriend in her life.  She would occasionally glance at a picture of Michelle Obama when some website was reporting about her outfit or she would stare in mild disgust as she surfed the TV at one of those shows where Black women were weaved out, backstabbing, social-climbers but that was really the extent of her interaction with or contemplation about Black women.   Pushing Trenae aside was like flicking a bug off her plate at a cookout.  She felt no connection, care, or concern.

Max was not so disaffected.  “Bitch, are you crazy?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  How dare you disrespect my queen like that.”  If the real life situation had been a 70’s Blaxploitation flick, this would have been the scene where Katie would have gotten soundly pimp-slapped and ended up flying half way across the room.  Katie stared up at Max in sincere shock and disbelief.  She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.  Standing there, wide-eyed and bewildered, Katie wondered why Max appeared to be upset.  She knew Trenae was his girlfriend but that didn’t mean much to her.  She figured that she had a husband whom she casually disrespected all the time so couldn’t grasp why Max appeared to be upset with her for pushing aside just a girlfriend. 

Max grabbed Katie by the arm and dragged her into the bedroom.  She scrambled behind trying not to fall.  It was clearly a spare bedroom because it was sparsely furnished.  There was a small lamp on the corner of the desk that illuminated the entire room and kept everyone in shadow.  Trenae appeared at the door and she walked over to Max and he put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the forehead.  “You okay, babe?  I mean . . . she didn’t hurt you or anything did she?” 

Trenae chuckled and offered, “No, she didn’t hurt me but thank you, precious, for being concerned about me,” and kissed him back on the lips. It was a tender, sweet exchange and for a brief moment Katie felt a pang of jealousy that she had never, not once in her life, had anyone kiss her so tenderly, with such meaning.  Trenae immediately picked up on Katie’s look of insecurity and took advantage of the situation.  Sliding her hand up Max’s now bare, muscled chest, she teased his nipple briefly before bringing her hand around to the back of his neck and pulling him down to her, she kissed him passionately.  Their kiss wasn't just a kiss; it was the communication of African spirits freed from bondage.  Alvin Ailey himself couldn’t have choreographed a better dance of tongues and thick, full lips moving together in harmony.  Max’s hands roamed down the sides of Trenae’s body, finding their resting place on the curves of her full, round ass.  Filling his hands with her meat, he pulled her body closer as they continued to kiss.  Gentle, soft moans escaped her lips and her body began to writhe and move like she was fucking Max standing up. 

Katie cleared her throat.  She thought to herself, “I have too much self-respect to let them ignore me like some sort of inconsequential furnishing.  I’m not going to take this.”  The fact that she had been on her knees in a public restroom performing oral sex on FOUR men a few months ago, the fact that she had been slapped, choked, gagged, and degraded and asked for more, the fact that self-respect was the last term that should ever be associated with her was an irony totally and completely lost on her.  “Look,” she said rather arrogantly, “If you two want to be alone I can . . .”

Before the words completely left her lips, both Max and Trenae said in syncopated harmony, “Bitch, SHUT UP,” and she was effectively silenced.  Their patience was running thin for Katie’s company so they decided to move the action along.  Katie was instructed to take off her shoes and Trenae pulled off her pants and thong and left her there with just her sparkly shirt on.  Max reached in her top and pulled out her tits, leaving her exposed in a vulgar, obscene way. 

During all of the adjustments and maneuvering, Katie stood there and complied like a malleable, pliable doll, not once voicing any concern or desire to be let go.  Max squeezed her saggy breasts with their age spots and stretch marks and brown nipples that never really got hard and for a split second, it registered as pain in her mind and she cried out and tried to pull away.  The discomfort didn’t last long and was commuted to pleasure in her brain in short order and she was begging for more. 

“You like that, don’t you?”  Trenae whispered softly in her ear from behind, her body intimately close.  Katie responded by whimpering.  She didn’t like it, she loved it.  Trenae continued.  “You really are a nasty slut, aren’t you, a filthy white whore?  Look at you, turned on by being treated like an object.  You came here to get your pussy, mouth, and asshole pounded by some hard, black cock.  You want Maxwell to fill your horny cunt with his hot sperm, have it dripping out when you go home to your little-dicked hubby.  I bet your pussy is wet right now just thinking about it, isn’t it?”  Katie nodded, never making a sound, never taking her eyes off Max but she was fixated on the voice that was in her ear, in her head really, saying all the things that she wanted to hear. 

Standing in the middle of the room and all of her senses heightened, Katie craved release.  She wanted to get fucked and used and to have it all culminate in an explosive orgasm.  Trenae brought her hand around and placed it against Katie’s collar bone and slowly and purposefully slid her hand upward until it was firmly wrapped around Katie’s throat.  She applied pressure firmly and gently, restricting her air, sensually choking her.  It wasn’t vicious or mean-spirited, it was a symbolic gesture declaring, “You might not have any care or concern for me, I but control you, I know you. I see through your flimsy fa├žade of conservatism to who you really are and what you are is an empty, soulless woman who will use anyone or anything to get what you want.”  Trenae squeezed harder.  Katie remained stoic but her eyes told a different story.  She was terrified, not of getting choked but of who and what she really was. 

Max backed away slowly, watching the two women, Katie never took her eyes off him.  Attired only in black boxer briefs, the evidence of his arousal was clear to see, even in the dimly lit room.  Trenae squeezed harder still.  Katie’s eyes started to dart around the room.  She wasn’t sure what the rules of this game were supposed to be but she didn’t want to show any fear to Max.  It was like a game of chicken except Katie was the only player.  Max wanted to see when she would break, when she would start to panic.  Lack of control was killing her much more so than lack of oxygen and she caved to the pressure.  Desperately grabbing, she tried to pry Trenae’s fingers from their grip on her esophagus but they wouldn’t budge. 

“You cheating, lying, amoral, disgusting whore!”  In her haze of confusion, Katie almost couldn’t tell where the words were coming from.  For a split second she thought she might have said them herself.  Without warning, Trenae loosened the grasp around Katie’s neck and she fell to the floor crying, a mass of whimpering flesh.  This wasn’t arousing to her anymore.  She wanted to go home, to go back to her reality where she never had to think about anything. 

Trenae walked over to the bed, kneeled on the foot of it, and waved her finger for Max to come to her.  He was magnetically drawn to her and stepped over Katie like she wasn’t even there.  He put his hands on her waist and they kissed, this time, more fevered and passionate.  Max kissed the nape of her neck and Trenae looked directly at Katie and silently mouthed the words, “Sweetie, you will NEVER have this.”  Throwing her head back, she luxuriated in the kiss.  Katie looked on in horror.  She knew what was going to happen.  She wanted it to stop but she knew better than to say anything.  In silence on the floor, half naked and her pussy wet, she watched as the pair began to make love in front of her very eyes.

This was her torture, this was her punishment.  She was going to have to be forced to witness what was unobtainable in her life: true passion, true love.  She would much rather be beaten and whipped and made to do unspeakable acts of depravity rather than to see the object of her lust and passion completely consumed by the charms of another woman, a woman with whom she couldn’t even pretend to feel some connection.  In a move that Katie thought only happened in the movies, Max started to sing to Trenae, really sing.  He was serenading her and doing it extremely well.  She never knew Max could sing let alone so well.  “Like sweet morning dew, I took one look at you, and it was plain to see, you were my destiny.”

Katie’s eyes rolled around in complete disgust.  She was sickened by the entire scene.  She was mumbling under her breath, “This fucking sucks.  Who the hell does that in real life?  Who the hell sings when they are having sex?”  What she longed for was for him to sing to her that way.  What she wanted to say was, “How can he be so intelligent, articulate, built, attractive, sexy, and talented in one package?”  What she REALLY meant was, “How can ‘a Black’ be all those things?”  She didn’t even want to give him the credit of calling him a Black man; to her he was a big black cock and HER plaything and little more, something that she used to fulfill her desires.  Even in this supposedly “post-racial” society, she still expected Black men to be thugs and savages even if her politically-correct filter said otherwise in public.  She was okay when she thought of him being little more than a savage Mandingo to fuck her.  She knew he was educated and she was okay with him being good at basketball and rapping or something like that but the tenderness and affection he was showing Trenae made her blood boil because he had never once shown her anything of the sort.  

Trenae and Max completely forgot that Katie was there and focused on each other.  Max picked up Trenae and laid her on the bed.  Making his way from her neck down her body, he licked, sucked and kissed every inch of her beautiful, brown skin.  He removed her bra and freed her succulent and heavy breasts.  Trenae’s nipples were as hard as tiny pebbles and stuck up in the air waiting to be sucked.  He sucked and bit her nipples, going back and forth from one to the other, causing her to moan and grab the back of his head.  It was clear she enjoyed the treatment because she was humping her pussy against Max’s thigh, deriving even more pleasure and stimulation during his foreplay.  She wrapped her legs around his back and directed him to stay there, to feast on her tits.  He had other plans.  Max had a map and the next stop on her body he was going to pleasure was her belly.  He tongue fucked her navel kissed his way down to her pantyline and left a trail of soft kisses all the way back up to her tummy. 

Trenae loved foreplay as much as the next woman but she was so turned on by the prospect of being watched, of showing the white women cowering on the floor across the room what it was like when a woman is savagely fucked by a man who loves her without being degraded and humiliated, she didn’t want to wait.  She wanted to show her what making love looked like when it was hot and sweaty and sticky and fevered.  She wanted to hurry things along a bit so she thought she would try a little bit of encouragement.  “Baby, I need you inside me right now.  I’m so desperate for you to give me every single inch of that dick.  Come on, feel my pussy, see how I’ve soaked my panties through?  Stick your fingers in there.  Oooooh, shit, that feels so good when you do that.  You want that don’t you?  I know you do.  I know you love the way my pussy feels.  Come on, boo, fuck me.” 

Max hadn’t even thought about their little voyeur nor was he paying attention to what Trenae was saying, at least not completely.  All he was concerned about was how many times he could make his lady cum before he did and he had a game plan and he wasn’t going to deviate from it.  Max spread her legs to tenderly kiss the warm insides of her thighs.  He licked the juncture where her legs joined her body and he could feel how soaking wet her panties had become.  Trenae had given up trying to convince him to penetrate her at that point and she was trying to make herself cum by sticking her hand in her panties and rubbing her clit.  Max wanted no part in that and he held her hands by her sides as he blew hot breath on her mound and licked the wetness through her panties.  He made her cry out and try to fuck his face but he still had an agenda.  He moved on. 

Max was a foot man and he was turned on by Trenae’s sexy feet.  There was no way he was going to miss out on kissing, licking, and sucking her little toes or feeling them rubbed on his erection.  He had a lot of ground to cover in the interim, however.  After taking a painstakingly long time to kiss his way down her legs, he started out by giving her a little foot massage.  Her perfectly pedicured little coral-colored tootsies looked like candy to him.  He placed her foot against his lips and the sexy little part of her toes between the tips and where they joined her foot.  He inhaled deeply and adjusted his dick because a true foot lover knows that the hint of foot aroma is incredibly arousing.  Slowly, seductively, he put all ten of her toes in his mouth one at a time and sucked softly, tickling her and driving her crazy.    He stood up momentarily and pulled down his briefs and stroked his now leaking dick just a little to take the edge off.  Trenae was not just a spectator during all of this, she was caressing her body, playing with her nipples; she was rubbing her fingers in the slippery folds of her pussy and teasing herself. 

The temperature in the room was climbing from the sexual heat.  It was time to move on and this time, Max made his way up the back of her body with his mouth.  Sucking the backs of her knees caused Trenae to giggle uncontrollably.  He left trails of wet kisses all the way up the backs of her thighs.  Sliding off her panties, he spread the cheeks of her ass and ran his tongue deep in the crevice.  Trenae loved the feel of his tongue there and thrust her hips up in the air.  “Now, that’s an ass,” Max proclaimed as he playfully spanked it and licked her pussy from behind.  He didn’t spend too much time there and his hands deeply kneaded the tension in her back muscles away as he ended up where he started, kissing and sucking her gorgeous neck. 

Trenae had had just about enough of all the teasing and she instructed Max rather firmly, “Roll over!”  On his back, his feet on the floor, Trenae climbed on top of Max’s face and planted her pussy squarely on his mouth.  His arms circled around her hips and his tongue went into action.  Trenae rode him hard.  She held on to the headboard and was grunting and groaning as she maneuvered her clit back and forth across his tongue and had him lick her from front to back.  Her juices coated his face and Max didn’t want to come up for air.  One thing was for sure, Trenae wanted to cum and that she did, exploding with force as Max nursed her clit between his lips. 

Not missing a beat, she managed to steady herself and position herself between Max’s legs kneeling on the floor.  It was her turn to give pleasure with her mouth and that she did.  Trenae had skills.  She grabbed the thickness of Max’s dick and used her tongue to work him into a state of arousal like Katie had never seen before.  There was no gagging and spit flying everywhere; she simply used her tongue and lips to lick and suck to near completion.  Every time she could tell he was getting closer, she would stop, give him a minute to catch his breath and then she would start again.  Every time she did, Max got more and more frantic, desperate to cum, pleading with her. “Please baby, let me fuck you.  Come on, I give. I want to feel your wet walls wrapped around my hard shaft. Let me shoot this hot nut I have been saving just for you deep inside you.”

The couple was at their limit for teasing and foreplay and Trenae climbed on top of Max and slid her tight pussy down on him slowly, getting used to his thickness and his length.    The three of them gasped audibly and in unison.  Katie was in the corner of the room, masturbating furiously.  She didn’t want to be turned on but she was.  She had her legs up in the air and spread obscenely and she was ramming three fingers in and out of her horny cunt furiously while her other hand groped and pinched her nipple.  The pair didn’t even notice.  Trenae placed her hands on Max’s chocolate brown chest and worked her ass like only a sista could do.  She hadn’t even worked her magic a full three minutes before Max had to grab her hips and stop her or he was going to explode before she could have another orgasm. 

Flipping her over and positioning her ass high in the air, he rubbed the tip of his dick on her wet slit.  “What are you waiting for lover,” Trenae asked as she looked over her shoulder and tempted him to drive it home.  And that’s what he did.  Reaching around, he fingered her clit and worked up a steady rhythm.  It wasn’t fast and furious, it wasn’t slow either.  He had their special pace, one that drove both of them crazy while lingering just this side of ecstasy.  Trenae’s moans turned to screams of passion her words were frenzied and incoherent.  The smell of sweat and pussy and sex filled the room.  Max was seconds away from his nut and he flipped her over on her back, threw her legs up in the air and drove it home, causing both of them to cry out.  He pressed their bodies together and kissed her deeply, her air filling his lungs.  Over and over he pumped his hard dick in her and she took it all.  Trenae came first, wrapping her legs around him and shaking uncontrollably and Max pumped her full of his semen.  Worn out, he fell on the bed next to her and cradled her to his chest and kissed her forehead gently again.  As their breathing calmed down, the barely detectable sounds of Katie sobbing in the corner could just be heard. 

All three dressed without saying much.  Max and Trenae were basking in the afterglow and Katie didn’t know what to say.  It was the early morning hours and Katie hoped she could sneak in the house without waking up the kids.  Max and Trenae held hands on the way back to the parking lot and spoke mostly of relationship stuff, work stuff, plans they had to meet up with friends, and commitments that had with each other’s family.  Katie sat in the back seat this time and wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what to say.  As they pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the truck, she mustered up the courage to laugh nervously and say, “Hey! You guys want to know something?  That was fun.  If you want to do it again, where you know, you can do stuff to me, I would be open for it.  I would even, you know, do stuff to her,” nodding her head in the general direction of Trenae. 

Max responded.  “Katie, if you even make an attempt to contact me again I will be forced to play hardball with you and you really, really don’t want me to do that.” 

“Oh, yeah, I totally understand,” she said, “I got it.  No problem.  I was just saying, you know.”  She slammed the door to his truck hard, wanting to go out in a flourish and show her passive aggressive rage and displeasure.  This time, he didn’t wait to see if she was in her car safely and they pulled off into the night.  Katie got in her car and sat there for a minute, still horny and largely unsatisfied, wondering how long she should wait before she contacted Max again. 

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved