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 bisexual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bisexual. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

In the Heat of the Night

It was a steamy night in the ATL and there was a power outage.  No light, no AC, all the entire city could do was sit and sweat and sit and sweat some more.  Luckily, I live on the top floor of my condo so I could go outside naked as the day I was born and enjoy a little breeze without the fear of anyone peeking at me.  My balcony looks out over the parking lot of a major home furnishing store, you know, the one from Sweden, Switzerland, wherever the hell it’s from so there isn’t a building around that could spy on me.  I made a pitcher of Sangria before my ice cubes turned to water and I was just chilling outside, in quiet reflection. 

There’s something about it being Africa-hot at nighttime that really gets to me.  It’s one thing for it to be stifling hot at 12 noon, but when the heat is oppressive and it’s 12 midnight, that’s a whole nutha thing all together.  I was feeling a buzz from my Sangria when the phone rang.  “Who the hell could this be, calling at quarter after “booty call o’clock” at night?”  I glanced at the caller ID on my cell phone and it was my friend Nina who lived downstairs. 

I was glad to have conversation because it was a little boring with no music or TV but I was also enjoying my naked solitude.  Nina was a white girl who started out as just someone I would see in the gym working out occasionally.  She and I were always deeply engrossed in some book and I would ask her what she was reading, she would ask me what I was reading.  One thing led to another and eventually, we started a book club for the building.  It’s only about five of us: two white women, two black women, including me, and a gay Spanish cat.  Once a month, someone hosts the group at their crib and we all bring a covered dish and dish about the book.  Everyone brings their own flavor to the group, literally and figuratively.  Luis has hipped us to all sorts of Latino fiction and Nina had a love of erotica that went far beyond the trash that’s in Borders.  She loves storytelling and she often times reads selections that would get us all hot and bothered.  I even noticed Luis squirming in his seat a couple of times.  “Hey sweetness, what’s up,”  I asked?

“Ebony, I’m sweating like a pig down here.  There’s no breeze and I feel like I’m going to suffocate.  Do you think I could come up to your place and crash on your couch?”  Her unit was on the courtyard side and she was a couple of floors down.  I can only imagine it must have been like an oven in her condo. 

“Sure, come on up, not a problem.”  That’s what I said, what I meant was, “Damn, I’m not really in the mood for company.  I’ve got a buzz going and I’m enjoying my freedom.”  Nina was really good people and I couldn’t leave her hanging in her hour of need so I opened my door with all the graciousness I could muster. 

I grabbed a robe and tied it around my body.  It wasn’t much, just a little short silk thingie I had gotten as a present from an ex-boyfriend.  I weighed the options of whether I should put on panties but my Sangria got the best of me.  “Fuck it, this is my house, if she sees my pussy, then so be it.  It’s too hot to be wearing panties anyway.” 

I opened the door and Nina was there, sheet in hand, and looking like she was dehydrated.  “Girl, come on in, you look like who struck John and ran.”  She knew me well enough to just look at me and not say anything.  It was one of the famous euphemisms my grandmother used to say that have become part of my daily lexicon.  Nina walked past me like she was in a daze and headed straight for the balcony.  Now Nina is a beautiful woman, there’s no question about it.  Her long brown hair fell just past her shoulders, but she was skinny, I’m mean slender, whatever white girls call themselves when they are a size 3.  I’m slender, but I have a lot more meat on my bones.  I have bigger titties, bigger thighs, bigger hips, and a whole helluva lot more azz.  I wear my hair in locs and had them pulled back in a ponytail.  To look at us, you wouldn’t even think we ran in the same circles but we were most certainly friends.  It was hard to find intellectual equals of any race and Nina was cerebral and logical with the best of them. 

Plopped down in a chair, she had her eyes closed and she was lying back like had just finished running a marathon.  Sweat was visible on her white wife beater tank top that clung to her small breasts and her tiny shorts had to be damp because they were so tight I could practically see the outline of her pussy lips.  I thought it was odd that she was wearing high heels but there wasn’t much to them.  She looked like she could have just gotten off the pole at the Cheetah Club

“You look like you could use some water, can I get you some?” 

“No thanks,” she said, “this will be fine, as she reached for the pitcher of Sangria and poured a big glass and downed it in one gulp. 

“Hey, careful there sweetie,” I said, “you are going to wake up with a terrible hangover if you don’t use moderation.”  She gave me another look like, “Do you have any idea how fucking hot I am?  Don’t test me.”  Word weren’t necessary.  I stood there looking at her, trying to cool off.  It was surreal.  There were no lights to be seen anywhere in the distance, illuminating the Atlanta skyline.  There was a silence like I’ve never known before.  It was like a moment frozen in time.  “Here, I’m going to make us another pitcher before the last of the ice melts.  I’ll be right back.” 

It was difficult moving around in the dark, trying to cut up fruit and not slice any fingers off in the process.  I was having difficulty maneuvering around in complete darkness when I heard Nina say, “Do you need any help?”  I could barely make out her form as I accepted her offer but there wasn’t much she could do, not knowing my kitchen as well as I did.  It became just a joke as we would bump into each other trying to get sugar and wine and everything cut up in that pitcher without it tumbling to the floor.  Wouldn’t that be a bitch? 

Nina was touchy feely.  Every time we would bump into each other, her hands would linger on my body.  At first, it was just my shoulder, and then it was my waist.  Then she pressed her body against mine and I almost swore I could feel her grinding on my ass.  I knew the sangria was making me feel a little loose and I certainly didn’t mind and I figured the Sangria had gone to her head rather quickly and it was making her a little amorous as well. 

I decided two could play at that game and I decided that I was going to give her something to think about.  I pretended to drop the dishtowel and I bent over, and I made sure to rub my ass all over her.  I got really bold and decided to step things up a notch.  “Here, let me see if I can cool you off a little bit.”  I took one of the last pieces of ice and I started rubbing it all over her chest.  Nina, as if in a trance, pulled her tank top down, exposing her tits, and I rubbed it all over her nipples.  She was chanting, “Oh shit, that feels so good, please don’t stop.”  Melted ice was running down her body and I wasn’t sure if it was cooling her off or making her hotter. 

It was sort of weird.  We both knew at that point that something intense was happening but neither one of us said anything.  I was giddy, my pulse was racing.  There, in the darkness, I put my hand between her legs and felt her pussy.  I could hear her soft moans but it was hard to make out the expression on her face.  She was humping her mound against my hand and I could feel the heat emanating from her core.  I wanted to ask what was going on but I didn’t want to spoil the mood.  I wanted whatever was going to happen to happen. 

“I think the Sangria is done, let’s go back outside and try to catch a breeze.”  I grabbed the pitcher and tried to maneuver my way back to the balcony without breaking my leg on a piece of furniture.  I sat on the chaise lounge and loosened up my robe so my breasts would be exposed if I moved just a little.  Without much effort at all, Nina could see my pussy if she wanted to, it would be right there, all I had to do was spread my long brown legs.  Nina joined me outside a few seconds after I got settled.  She looked like she was more uncomfortable than when she first walked through the door.  There was a nice breeze blowing and I was sure our little experiment with the ice had cooled her off quite a bit but I knew she was just as hot as I was after our little groping session in the kitchen. 

I was so horny and turned on that I couldn’t think straight.  I didn’t want to have casual conversation but I didn’t want to ruin the thing that was happening between us.  For a long while, we sat in silence, just sipping our wine and staring out into the distance.  I closed my eyes and felt the heat in my body.  It wasn’t heat from the temperature, it wasn’t heat from the drink, and it was a heat from lust.  I was fantasizing about Nina and I in the throws of passion.  She stood up and started speaking in almost hushed, melodic tones.  She was weaving a tale of erotic delight; she was hypnotizing me with her words.

“The beauty,” she said, “of Sapphic delights is in the slow build, the smoldering fire that ignites the flames of passion.  The beauty of interracial pleasures is in the contrast.  Your body is a black canvas upon which pleasure should be painted.”  She paced back and forth, her heels clicking on the tile, punctuating her speech.  “I wish to serve you, you delicious Nubian queen, I wish to submit myself to you, a muse of your whims, so that you may reach ecstasy.  Let me drink from your Ebony source, let me lie next to you, our bodies intertwined, our limbs a tangle of contrasted skin tones.” 

I had never in my entire life had anything like this happen to me.  I couldn’t even explain it.  She was seducing me with prose and I was aching with desire and all I could do was listen, words were caught in my through.  How was I to respond?  I could have lit all of Atlanta proper with the electricity that was flowing through my body. 

Nina sat at the end of the chaise lounge.  I spread my legs and she moved closer.  Gently, she reached for the tie on my robe and undid it.  She pushed the material to the side and exposed my body to her view.  She took in every inch of my brown frame and licked her lips like she was starving.  She leaned forward and she touched her lips to mine.  I reveled in the softness of her kiss, her tongue, and I pulled her body to mine. 

“Let me make love to you,” she whispered, as if she was asking my permission.  I simply nodded my consent and she proceeded to give me pleasure in ways that only another woman can give.  She stood briefly, undressing in front of me.  She pulled off her tank top and tossed it casually to the ground, revealing her perfectly formed breasts to my vision.  Her nipples were pink and puffy and certainly a contrast to my dark, pebble-like nipples that were aching to be sucked.  Turning around, she put her thumbs in the waist of her shorts and bent over.  Methodically she pulled them down, exposing her pussy from behind and her ass, of which she seemed to be especially proud.  She ran her hands all over it, spreading her cheeks and showing off her asshole.  My heart skipped a little beat and my clit seemed to come alive.  I was enjoying the show, such a contrast to any of the other women I had been with.  Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkened night and her tan lines were visible, just barely.  It was apparent that she was trying to get brown all over.  She left her heels on.  I had always thought that was something that only porn stars did but in that moment, she looked amazing.  I wouldn’t have wanted her to change a thing. 

Being so open in our lovemaking aroused me.  We were outside.  It wasn’t as if we were in the Serengeti, we were in midtown ATL on 17th street, and it all seemed so decadent.  I think she was equally in awe of my skin tone as I was of hers.  She took her hands and massaged my legs, spread them wider, rubbing ever so close to my pussy but not touching me there.  My body was reacting to her touch. 

Our eyes had become adjusted to the darkness and she knelt before me as she lowered the back of the chaise lounge to almost reclining.  Even though the temperature was hot, she was trembling and shaking like she was freezing cold.  She crawled over my body like a panther surveying its prey.  My arms were stretched out above my head, gripping the railing for dear life. 

We kissed again, this time I was able to return the kiss even more passionately.  She began her descent down my body with her mouth, bathing me with sensual kisses.  She covered my neck and throat with corporeal kisses and I moaned in appreciation.  She took an incredibly long time kissing and licking her way down my arms and sucking each and every one of my fingers.  My nipples were hard and aroused like two tiny pebbles waiting for her mouth to lick and suck them.  My body was becoming more and more comfortable, more and more aroused, and I was responding to each touch with more enthusiasm.  She brought her tongue to my left nipple and gently licked it and I let out a hiss . . . She licked the right one and I groaned.  In fact, she spent the better part of a half hour licking, sucking, and kissing on my nipples. 

I kept saying, “Oh God, that feels so good, don’t stop.”  I grabbed her hair and held her mouth to my tits, made her suck them like a baby.  Every sensation was like a jolt of pleasure in my clit.  The more aroused I got, the more I needed to give into the pleasure and the passion of this lesbian lust.  It was more than apparent that I was enjoying myself as she licked and kissed her way down my stomach to my goody trail of soft fine hair that led to my sensual treasure.  She let her mouth wander down to my legs and I spread my thighs enough for her to lick and kiss me there.  I could smell my scent that betrayed my arousal.  I turned my over on my stomach and she began lavishing my back with kisses.  She grabbed my ponytail and pulled it as she whispered in my ear that she was going to make me cum so many times I would pass out.  I responded by grinding my ass on her and saying, “Fuck you.”  She loved my fight and arrogance; it turned her on that much more.  She slid her hand between my legs to gently rub my mound.  She playfully spanked me, not too hard; gently, erotically.  I was thrusting my ass up at her and telling her to eat my pussy, my hot, wet, pussy.   

We were both out of control with lust.  All of my inhibitions had long since disappeared and she was insatiable.  She wanted to experience every sensation she could.  I turned over on my back again.  Now it was her turn to be overcome with lust.  My pussy was so fucking wet it dripped with desire.  I spread my legs and she stared at the center of my being in complete awe.  My lips were parted and swollen with arousal.  My clit was already peeking from its hood.  I was so wet she could see my juices glistening even in the darkened night.  My smell was intoxicating.  She inhaled my aroma over and over again, wanting to breathe it into her very essence.  I held onto the last little bit of control I had left.  “Nina, tell me you want this, tell me that you need to make love to make, to make me cum.  I need to hear you say it.”

 “Mmmmmm, you know damn well that I want to eat and lick and suck your wet cunt.  I want to make you cum with my mouth.  That’s what you need.  I want to stick my tongue deep inside you, suck your clit, EAT YOUR PUSSY.  I want to rub my pussy against yours.  I want to see the contrast.  I am desperate to lick you and eat your pussy and I want you to use my mouth to cum.  I want you to shoot your pussy cream in my mouth.  Mmmmm. Oh fuck, I want you to strapon on a big fat cock and pound my pussy and asshole.  I want this.  I need this.  I’m intoxicated by your beauty and I want to share with you every pleasure imaginable.” 

Her sexy talk pushed me over the edge.  In fact, I almost came from hearing her being so open, so vocal about her desires.  As much as I wanted her to dive in and devour my pussy, I wanted to make it an experience that she would never forget.  I took my fingers and gently spread my lips and started to gently rub on my exposed, fat clit.  She responded by grinding her wet pussy on my leg.  She pulled my hand away and replaced it with her own.  She put her fingers at the entrance to my hole and she started working them inside me, trying to get me to cum.  I had made a transformation then and there.  I was no longer the calm, reserved woman who wouldn’t verbalize her desires lest the spell be broken, I was hot and crazed and I wanted more.  

Her soft fingers reached places that my own couldn’t.  This wasn’t the gentle lovemaking of romantic fantasies, she was fucking me.  Before no time at all, she was finger fucking me with three fingers, ramming them hard and I was meeting every thrust.  She lowered her mouth to my clit and started sucking it, licking it, working her fingers in deeper, hitting my spot.  She grabbed my thighs, pushed them up, and drove her tongue deep in my hot asshole.  She was tongue fucking my backdoor and I was going out of my mind. 

“Come on, eat me.  MMMM.  Oh yeah, you love eating my pussy and sucking my ass.  Does that taste good?  Yeah?”  I reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her up.  I positioned her in a 69 and we went to town on my balcony.  I was driving my tongue in her twat, tasting her sweet juices; she was gripping my thighs and licking my clit like nobody’s business.  It was loud, passionate, raunchy sex in the heat of the night.  I felt my body tense, I felt her pussy gush.  We were both fingering each other and fucking and licking and sucking like we were possessed.  Oh Nina, oh Nina, yes baby, yes, oh fuck, oh shit, fuck, damn, I’m going to cum.

We stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on top of the comforter.  The breeze and the cross ventilation cooled us from our physical heat but the heat of passion was still sweltering.  Before the night was over, we fucked in every way conceivable.  At some point in the mid morning, we were awakened by the sound of the TV.  The electricity was restored and the light of day greeted us.  We planned on taking advantage of the air conditioning and our newfound aspect to your sensuality all afternoon long.

Copyright 2006 AfroerotiK

Monday, December 07, 2015

Willful Ignorance

It’s the 21st century.  We are living in a time when we have more access to information, to knowledge than any other time in recorded history.  It amazes me, it astounds me actually, the willful ignorance that abounds about sex and sexuality in this day and time truly boggles my mind.  We might as well be living in The Dark Ages with leeches to treat deadly plagues because people, the vast and overwhelming majority of people, believe the most stupid, asinine things about sexuality.   

Being bisexual does not mean that you have to be equally attracted to both men and women.  Being bisexual does not mean that you automatically want to form a romantic, emotional relationship with someone of the same gender, it simply means that you can have sex with both genders.  Just because you have a preference for one gender over the other that does not mean that you are somehow heterosexual.  It’s very possible to be sexually aroused by both genders without your masculinity or femininity being altered in any way.  If you are blindfolded and you are sexually stimulated you will be aroused regardless of the gender of person.  If a woman is sexually aroused by other women that does not mean she is going to become masculine NOR does it mean that a man is going to become feminine if he is sexually aroused by other men.  

Men and women have the EXACT same anatomy that allows them to experience arousal and pleasure when stimulated anally.  That’s not entirely true.  Men have a prostate that women do not have and when the prostate is stimulated, it provides pleasure.  Not just gay men.  Not just feminine men.  Not just some men.  ALL men have the potential to experience pleasure when stimulated anally.  It has nothing to do with a man’s sexual preference or his masculinity.  Bottoms, tops, sissies etc., they are all labels that reinforce the false belief that being a woman is synonymous with being submissive, being humiliated, being degraded and I have news for you, those things are not inherent to women.  There is no genetic markers that make women predisposed to being slapped, spit on, gangbanged or used.  If a man is anally aroused, putting on a dress and wearing stockings and heels does not make him a woman.  

Unfortunately, common sense, logic, reason, and facts have no bearing on the absurdity that people believe about sex and sexuality.  Black people especially.  Because we expect men to be one-dimensional, hyper-masculine Neanderthals, we claim that there is no such thing as bisexuality, that a man has to be gay if he is sexually aroused by both genders and that he’s just denying it.  Because we are so desperate to believe the white man’s religion that was beaten into us, we turn our backs on plain truths that can’t be denied.  There is no big bad sky daddy who watches what we do in the bedroom and who is offended by our pleasure.  We believe all sorts of truly stupid things: that the tightness of a man’s jeans or the color of his shirt can determine if he’s bisexual, that only bisexual men are responsible for the spread of HIV.  This is 2015 and people really believe that.  There is too much information at our fingertips, there is too much damn porn in genres that have to be seen to actually be believed that prove beyond all reasonable doubt that people are aroused by far more than heterosexual, missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out.  Yet we live in willful ignorance and pretend that humans are supposed to be asexual and chaste.  I’ll tell you what’s a sin.  It’s sinful that we choose to be so close-minded and brainwashed. 

Saturday, November 07, 2015

Interracial Domination Duo

Andre West fidgeted in his car seat.  “OK,” he whispered into his watch, like it was a spy gadget from a James Bond movie, “the time is 17:30 hours and I’ve been surveilling the unknown address for two hours with no sign of any movement other than the mailman leaving a package.”  Did it matter that he didn’t have a smart watch recording him, that his watch was a decade old Timex that only told time?  Ehhh, not so much.  Clearly, he was going a little loopy with no one to talk to and trying his best to stay under the radar slouched down in the back seat of his Tahoe.  He wasn’t a private eye or a police detective on a case, he was a man on a mission to get some answers.  He had been dating an amazing woman named Asali Attison for 6 months.  They were in love by all reasonable measures.  The problem was, she was still being distant and guarded.  Normally, any two people with that much in common, who had amazing, mind-blowing sex, who were interested in a long-term commitment with each other wanted to spend every waking moment with each other.  Asali was being secretive.  For no discernable reason whatsoever, she wanted “space.”  On the nights they didn’t spend together, she would very often rush off the phone and he could tell there was something just not right. 

A decade or so ago, Andre might have had to just settle for her answer that she just wanted time alone but Andre had the internet.  He did a background check on her and found out that she had two addresses listed in Dallas.  He had been to her loft plenty of times.  This other address, the one he had been camped out in front of for a couple of hours was a condo she had never even mentioned.  It’s a good thing he had tinted windows because a Black man in a strange neighborhood sitting in his car for any length of time was enough to cause his name to become a hashtag.  He was stealth.  He had an empty Big Gulp cup with a very secure lid just in case he had to pee and he made sure he was dressed professionally so it would lessen the chances that someone might think he was some sort of thug and chase him through the neighborhood, you know, standing their ground.  Oddly enough, he saw some scraggly-looking white guy walk past a few times who looked like he could have been an extra on the set of Breaking Bad and none of the neighbors even raised an eyebrow.  Meanwhile, Andre made sure he wasn’t listening to hip-hop on his car radio, he had jazz playing very softly on his phone, and he had his driver’s license, registration, and car insurance cards on the front seat of the car so he wouldn’t have to reach in the glove box for them. Oh, the things Black men have to do in an average day to avoid getting shot. 

His time in the car was over as he saw Asali’s black Infinity pull into the parking space for the unit.  She got out, dressed like she had just come from the office, and sauntered in her confident, sexy way to the mailboxes and got her package.  Andre decided he was going to wait for her to get to the front door, with her key in the lock before he decided to approach her.  Just as he was about to open the door to his truck, a late model Honda Accord pulled up and parked in the second space for the unit.  Andre froze.  Of all the scenarios he had run in his head, Asali cheating was never one of them.  That’s what Andre kept telling himself, even as he saw a white man get out of the car and greet her on the walkway, open the door with his own set of keys and let her enter the unit first. 

To say that Andre was heartbroken was an understatement.  He took a few minutes to gather himself and fight back the tears.  If she had some sort of sugar daddy/jungle fever, she could go straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  Steeling his nerves, he slammed the door of his truck a little too hard and blinked a few times to make sure that he didn’t have any tears in his eyes.  He knocked on the door with the force of someone who was not selling Girl Scout cookies. 

The white man answered.   His face showed signs of shock and fear.  “Andre!  I uhmmmmm.  Hold on, let me get her.” 

“Who the fuck are you and how the hell do you know my name?  Yeah, tell her to come to the door right now because I want some answers.”  Andre’s voice was getting a couple of octaves higher and he could feel his emotions boiling over.  The white guy left him standing outside.  He didn’t want to make a scene and have the police called so he waited patiently.  He loved Asali.  More than any woman he had ever loved before.  This was just not happening.  No fucking way. 

Dressed in a stunning red knit dress that hugged her body but that was still professional, she took his hand and pulled him inside.  “Sweetie, I am so sorry.  I can explain.”  In the seconds that had passed, it was clear there were tears in her eyes as well.  She stood still, waiting for him to say something.  Not letting go of his hand, she led him to the living room and motioned for him to sit down. 

“Todd, come here please.”  The white guy tentatively came out of what was surely a bedroom as the place was exquisitely decorated but very small.  The kitchen was a galley kitchen and there was a breakfast bar that appeared to serve as the dining room.  In the corner of the living room there was a desk with a desktop computer set up.  There was no TV and there didn’t seem to be any happy couple pictures of the two of them framed anywhere.  Andre was devastated but he waited for the explanation.    Todd, wearing the remnants of his business suit from work, stood silently,

“I didn’t know how to tell you and I realize now what a mistake it was to keep it from you and I’m so very sorry.  Andre this is Todd, Todd Wentley.” 

“Really?  This dude?  You are fucking around on me with him?  I’m outta here.”  Andre was emotional and irrational.  He got up and Asali cut him off.

“Noooo, it’s not like that.  It’s . . . it’s complicated.  Let me explain.”  They sat down on the sofa again, this time, her soft hand covered his.  He wanted to pull away he was so disgusted but the part of his brain that adored her wanted this to be all a joke, a terrible, horrible, unbelievable, complex joke where cameras were going to pop out and let him know that he was being pranked.  She continued.  “I know I should have told you when we first started getting serious but there just didn’t seem like a good time.  And after a while, I realized that I should have told you in the beginning and then I was just ashamed and embarrassed by the whole situation.  I didn’t want to lose you and I wasn’t ready to give up Todd.” 

“Oh hell no!  I swear to God if you tell me that you love this dude I will lose my mind.  Him?  Get the fuck outta here!  If you want him, you can have him!”  He pulled his hand away, devastated. 

“Andre!  Stop!  It’s not like that.  I own him.  He belongs to me.”    The room fell silent. 

The look of confusion on Andre’s face was apparent.  He sat back down this time and he collected his thoughts for a moment.  The silence was deafening but Asali knew him well enough to let him have his space to process.  He was aware that she had been a Domme and had dominated white men in the past but he thought that it was just that . . . in the past.  Not once did they ever have a conversation about it being in the present.  Andre was still shaky but he needed details.  He couldn’t even fully pay attention; in his head he was trying to figure out how they could go back to the way things were 2 days ago, before he even had a clue that there was a secret love nest. 

He took a couple of deep breaths and he queried.  “So, this guy is so important to you that you would rather risk our relationship than let him go?  Is that how it is?  I cut off all my previous relationships when we fell in love.”  The word love sounded flat and empty to him as it left his lips. 

“Listen, it’s not how it seems.  I’ve invested a lot of time and energy into him.  I’ve created him to be exactly what I want and need and he’s . . . he’s exceptional.  He’s just too valuable an asset to just throw away.”

Andre was incensed!  “This dude?  You’re telling me that this white man satisfies you sexually so much so that . . . I’m going to be sick.  Where’s the bathroom?”  Andre’s whole world was turning upside down and inside out.  

“Stop it!  Andre!  You have to calm down. Tell him, Todd, tell him what you do for a living.” 

Todd spoke up softly, trying to help ease the tension in the room.  “I work as the Director of Social Media for the Dallas Police Department.  Well, that’s my official title.  In actuality, in secret, I function as a liaison between the media and the community to hold the police accountable when I can verify that they are doing something racist or that there are suspicious circumstances surrounding any incident that involves race that they might try to cover up.” 

“Right,” Andre interjected, “I’m supposed to believe that whitey here is champion for the oppressed black man.  Give me two fucking breaks.  This bitch doesn’t even know what racism means, let alone can he do anything about it.  He sold you a bill of goods.  What he really means is he deletes comments from their Facebook page that the police don’t like.  That’s his damn job.  And how the hell did you get that fucking job in the first place Mr. Black Lives Matter?” 

Both Asali and Todd smiled.  “Well, I got him the job.  He got a divorce slightly after I met him and he needed a fresh start so he moved from Seattle to Dallas and let’s just say I know people who got him the job.  People with secrets.  People in positions of power who don’t want their secrets told so the job was created for him at my behest.  The fact that he is spying on the cops and making their questionable actions known to the press is our little secret.  I promise he’s legit.  You have to trust me.  Todd, tell Andre what racism means.” 

Todd didn’t even hesitate.  “Racism is NOT one race not liking another race. Racism is the historic, systematic, and institutionalized oppression of people of color by Caucasians in their efforts to perpetuate the fallacy of white supremacy in order for them to maintain the power structures that allow them to have social, economic, educational, financial, and vocational privileges. People of color cannot be racist. They can be bigoted, they can be biased, but they can't be racist. More importantly, even if Black people are bigoted, it does not hold the same weight, power, and privilege racist white people have.”  

He had Andre’s attention.  It took him a full minute to collect his thoughts enough to speak.  “OK, OK, so he can repeat what you taught him.  Good little monkey.  But that doesn’t mean that he is really champion for the Black race.  I’ve yet to meet a white man who . . .”

“Quiz him,” Asali interrupted.  “Pick a topic.  Any topic.  The Trans-Atlantic Slave trade.  The principles of Afrocentricity.  White privilege.  Slave mentality.  He’s read Asante, Akbar, Marimba Ani, he can quote John Henrik Clark.  He is not just a parrot that can repeat what I’ve told him.  I’ve trained him, I’ve shaped him, and I’ve educated him.  That’s what I meant by I said he’s far too exceptional to let go.   Let me explain, please.” 

Andre sat back on the sofa.  He was confused but he wanted some sort of explanation that made sense to him.   He nodded. 

“When I met Todd two years ago, the best he could do was say, ‘Racism isn’t fair.’  He was of the mindset that if it didn’t affect him personally, he didn’t have to think about race even though he has only been attracted to Black women for almost all his adult life.  I decided to manipulate his sexuality in order to refashion him into exactly what I wanted him to be.  I would restrain him, handcuff him to the bed and I would whisper in his ear.  I would stroke him, stroke his dick.  I would bring him to the brink of orgasm over and over and over again.  I reprogrammed his brain.  I took the things that he loved, things that aroused him like having his nipples stimulated and I would manipulate them for hours, all the while training and teaching him.  I associated his sexual pleasure with the things I wanted him to learn, the things I wanted him to become.  He would be out of his mind, crazed with lust, begging for release, and I transformed him into my perfect pet.  He will do anything I tell him to do, without question or hesitation.  He craves the things that turn me on; craves them as if his life depends on it.”

“You have sex with him?  Oh, hell no.  You have got to be fucking kidding me!” 

“No, no, no,” she interjected, “that’s not it at all.  He doesn’t really service me sexually, He has never in two years eaten my pussy.  He . . . well . . . he services . . . Black men for me.  I get off on watching him suck and get fucked.  He gets off on it.  It’s like I said, he craves it.”

“Oh, he’s gay?  Yeah, figures. White boys!” 

“Well, not exactly.  I suppose you could say that but it’s a lot more complex than that.  See, well . . .  let him explain it to you.” 

Todd spoke up in his defense again.  “I’m attracted to Black women.  I will always be attracted to Black women first and foremost.  That doesn’t mean my sexuality is singular however.  I’m not gay.  I’m not a sissy.  I don’t have a need to dress up as a woman to assume a submissive role, I would never demean women in that way.  I respect them too much to assert that wearing some heels and some makeup means that I am somehow transformed into a woman.  I’m not a woman, I’m a man who is submissive, I’m a man who is bisexual and I enjoy pleasing Black men and I don’t have to pretend to be forced in order to do it.   I love pleasing my Mistress and it gives me intense pleasure to feel a hard dick explode in my mouth or ass and know that I was able to do that.  I love pleasing Black men for her.  I love making her proud of me.  I experience pleasure from being penetrated, whether it is from her divine strapon, one of my toys, or if it is from one of her lovers.   I’m so very grateful that Mistress allows me release but I know that I will never be allowed to pleasure her sexually.  I know I’m not deserving of that honor.  That is purely the domain of the Black men she allows into her heart as lovers.”

Andre coughed and blinked.  He knew by now not to over-react and to just listen.  He was trying to process it all.  He continued looking around the small condo.  The bookshelves were packed with hundreds of books on black history, black psychology, and black culture.  There was no TV but he figured the computer could be used for streaming media.  The complex looked like it had been built in the 60s but the interior had clearly been updated with dark hardwood floors and a semi-open floorplan that would not have been the style a half a century ago.  Andre studied Todd, now sitting, who looked nervous but not overly so as he was clearly taking his cues from Asali.  In the average Black person’s lifetime they NEVER meet a white person who understands and is sympathetic to the issues of race so it would have been easier if someone handed Andre a piece of paper and said, “Here is a Chinese calculus problem solve for     

Todd continued.  “Eradicating racism has become my mission in life.  Whereas when I first met Mistress, I could distance myself from race, now it consumes every part of my life.  I attack racism online every chance I get knowing that for every one person I dismantle, there are thousands of other lurkers there reading and learning like I did.  I feel like it’s my place to use my energy to combat what my Mistress has had to endure every day of her life.” 

“Man, this is too much to handle.  I’m not sure I can understand everything that is being said.  I will give him credit for at least being more knowledgeable about racism than the vast majority of white people but you can’t seriously think that he . . . I mean come on . . . wait . . . what?  This is all so confusing.” 

Asali turned to him and lifted his face to hers.   “Beloved King.  I take full responsibility for your confusion because of my deception.  I knew from the minute I met you that I wanted you in my life.  I allowed my fears of rejection by you to keep this secret.   I was so ashamed of myself for what I considered cheating that I rationalized that I had to lie.  Trust me, if it had been any other sub, I would have dismissed them before you and I had our first kiss.  Todd is different.  Sweetie, he’s not just a mimicking what I tell him to say, however, he’s come up with his own theories of racism in his efforts to dismantle it.  I mean, he blew my mind with his concepts.  Honestly, you need to hear him out.”

Todd raised his eyebrow signaling he was asking Andre for permission to explain himself.  Andre flicked his hand in Todd’s general direction, indicating that he had the floor, he had better impress him.  “The way I see it, racism permeates every single solitary facet of our society.  There is not one single area where it doesn’t persist so white people as a rule can’t say, ‘I’m not racist, I wasn’t raised racist,’ and all the other rhetoric and clichés they spout when they are trying to silence people of color.  Our nation was built on the foundation of racism.  There has never been a point in our history, recent or distant, where whites have been forced to collectively address, acknowledge, or heal their racist beliefs so they persists like a cancer.  Every childhood book has whites as the heroes.  Every TV show shows whites as upstanding and virtuous and saving the day.  Magazines show people who look like me as the 100 most beautiful people in the world, the world where we only make up 10% of the population.  History books tell us that whites invented everything great when in actuality we stole everything great from people of color; violently stole I might add.  School districts are zoned so that whites get the best educations and Blacks get . . . well, you get the idea.   No white person can escape the breadth and depth of racism.  Racism is the default disease of our society and it has been since whites invaded, stole, and inhabited this nation.  Of course, racism had gone rampant and continues to do so with the advent of technology.  I’ve identified four very distinct classes of racism that persist in this country, and this country is vastly different than any other because of its history of slavery and the long-term effects that linger unaddressed.”

“First, there are the blatant racists.   They are the Klan members, the Neo-Nazi’s, the white supremacists.  They are the most vocal about hating Black people.  They will claim that they are white purists, trying to advance the cause of the white race.  They stay isolated from anyone different from themselves but if you go on their computer’s you will find gigabytes upon gigabytes of interracial porn.  Trust me, I’ve been in the crime lab when the techs go through their computers, I’ve seen time and time again that the most staunch racist will have thousands of files of interracial porn on their computers.  But no one tells you that.  That’s the secret that whites get to keep.” 

“The second group consists of the vast and overwhelming majority of white people in this country.  The members of the second group are equally as racist, but they are the most adamant that they are not.  They are the ones who troll African American websites telling Black people that they are racist.  They believe Blacks are inferior, and they defend whiteness at all costs.  They tell the racist jokes at work and get offended if someone catches them.  Talk about denial, their own children will be addicted to meth, heroin, and cocaine and they will swear that it’s only Blacks who are the criminals.  Just look at the internet, look at any porn site.  White people abound posting their videos of them doing depraved, perverted, extreme things yet white people will swear that Blacks are the sexual savages, driven by lust.  They feel entitled to everything, they think that the world owes them.  They come to the defense of any and every white person who is accused of being racist like they know them personally.  They swear racism doesn’t exist and but they will call a Black person racist in the blink of an eye.  Their mantra is, ‘Martin Luther King said,’ and they always have a Black “friend” who seems to cosign their racism.  They mimic conservative talk show hosts and media and they have never once challenged or questioned their own racism or beliefs about race.” 

“Group 2 not only watches interracial porn, they have all sorts of interracial sex in real life.  The white men are actively engaged with gay sex with Black men in percentages too staggering for my little mind to comprehend.  There are so many married white women having gangbangs in hotels with Black men they meet on craigslist it should be considered a national pastime.  My domain, where I came from, fetish and domination websites, they have millions of profiles with pictures with white men showing their faces proclaiming that they are submissive to the superior Black race.  But those same men have never once challenged their erroneous beliefs about Blacks.  They still hold on to the core racist beliefs that Black men are only as valuable as the inches between their legs, that Black women are ghetto hoochies and reality star drama queens.  The same white men who are sucking black dicks in glory holes and the back seat of their cars, who are pimping their wives out to Black men for unprotected sex, are the same ones in corporate boardrooms who are making deals that keep Black people disenfranchised and oppressed.” 

“The third group is where I fell when I first met Ma’am.  I was in the silent offenders.  I knew that Black lives mattered and that terrible racial injustice existed.  I knew that the hatred of Obama was because of his race but I didn’t have to think about it too much so I could be upset for the total amount of time it took me to read a news article and then compartmentalize it and put it away.  The third group of whites thinks racism is bad but they aren’t willing to do anything about it, they don’t want to rock the boat, so they are just as complicit as the first two categories.  The issue with the third group is that while they won’t burn a cross and they a have sincere desire not to be racist, they still are because you can’t be anti-racist until you study, until you learn, until you dismantle the fucked up baggage that we whites have inherited that tells us that the sun rises and sets around us.  That’s what I didn’t understand until I met Mistress.  She showed me that my apathy meant that I was contributing to the problem, that I was in fact, racist.  That’s the hardest thing for white people to hear.   There is no greater insult than to be called racist.” 

“The final group doesn’t even make up one half of one percent of the white population.  The last group are the true anti-racists who acknowledge that we have privileges based on our race and that history has been distorted to depict us as superior when we as a race have been guilty of the most heinous aggressions against people of color around the globe.  The last group has taken off our rose-colored glasses and we see the hypocrisy and irony of stealing land, enslaving people and then proclaiming yourself superior.  We, the last group, are truly the minority.  It’s my job as part of that minority to fight racism with every ounce of my being.  Ma’am taught me that. 

Andre’s jaw almost hit the floor.  He paused momentarily to collect his thoughts.  “Ain’t that some shit!  I’ve never even heard a black person explain it so succinctly before.  Is this for real?”  Asali and Todd both smiled.  “So wait a minute.  I’m willing to concede that this guy is on some new shit.  No doubt. But I’m still a little confused about the sucking and fucking part.  Don’t think I missed the part about him sucking your lovers off.  I know he hasn’t ever sucked my dick so whose dick is he sucking exactly?  You bring other men over here for him to screw while you watch?  Is that what you do on the nights you aren’t with me?” 

Asali could do nothing but apologize again.  It was her fault Andre had all these doubts and insecurities.  If she had been honest with him from the beginning none of this would be an issue right now.  She explained that they had not had anyone else involved in their play in almost a year.  She also explained that she felt a sense of obligation to Todd to him to keep him aroused so that he could continue to fight for justice both at work and at home because she didn’t feel that his efforts to put his life on the line to fight for equality should go unrewarded and she didn’t just want to release him from ownership. 

“On the nights I spend time with him, I usually let him sniff my pantyhose and massage my feet.   I might fuck him with a dildo or a strapon until he releases.  When I think he’s done a particularly good job at work, when he’s exposed something major, I will let him have my panties to sniff and lick while he masturbates.  I allow him to wear a butt plug when he’s at home and I keep him aroused with stories of how you fuck me. That’s how he knew exactly who you were when you knocked on the door.  He is allowed to fuck himself with toys and I even got a machine that I turn on really slowly and I keep him edging for a few hours while I tease him.  I’ve told him that I will allow him to see other Dommes and even date other women but he’s okay with the situation as it is.  Seeing as we are in full confession mode I have to tell you that it turns me on to get him in that sub space where he craves stimulation.  I do get aroused.  I make sure I release all that arousal allllll over you when we are together but Todd is not the only one getting pleasure from our little sessions.” 

Andre got up and walked around the small apartment.  He was trying to collect his thoughts.  Even though Todd had seen pictures of Andre seeing him in person was a little overwhelming in real life.  They made a beautiful couple.  The man pacing back and forth made love to the woman of his dreams, it was hard to wrap his mind around.  Todd felt something emotional welling up inside him but it wasn’t exactly jealousy.  It was pride.  There was joy in knowing that his Mistress was happy, that she had found someone so much like her that complimented her.    If there were any feelings of jealousy, it was in his desire to see what was beneath that dress shirt and slacks that fit his toned body. 

Andre cleared his throat.  “OK, how do you say it, full confession mode?   Alright, I have some confessing to do too.  I’ve been . . . there have been a few . . . I know some white guys who love to take a walk on the wild side, or the dark side if you will.   At every point in my life I’ve had white men trying to get in my pants.  When I was in college, the coach of the football team would bend over the desk and beg to get pounded.  Shit, my roommate sucked me off every night.  Whenever I’m single, I know I can always go online and within a few hours, meet up with some white guy who is willing to suck me off with no strings attached.  I used to know this couple and the guy wanted to watch while I fucked his wife but that didn’t do it for me so much.   Fucking white women is not that great compared to sistas.”

Todd chuckled, “Ain’t that right,” and they shared a bonding moment. 

“If I’m being fully honest,” Andre continued, “I love the power of having white men service me, bow to me.  I’ve often tried to do what you guys are doing here but on a much smaller scale.  I’ve tried to get white men to see my humanity, not objectify me when they are down there on their knees, sucking my dick.   I tell them about what it means to be a Black man, that it is much more than having a big dick, but I’ve never invested any time in them.  I’ve never wanted anything to do with them after I get my nut.  I’ve never met anyone like Todd though, that’s for sure.  It makes sense that I’m clearly not the only Black man being serviced by white men and I know it’s extremely prevalent I just never, I mean you just never hear anything about it in the media so it’s easy to believe that it’s isolated and rare if you don’t examine and think about it.”

In the blink of an eye, things went from zero to sixty.  Asali stood up and kissed Andre.  She was turned on by his revelations, by the ease with which he was able to share his history with her.  She was aroused because she had spent months fantasizing about him joining her and Todd and them dominating him together: she the psychological manipulatrix who was able to arouse him with just a whisper and Andre who was willing to lend his Hershey colored temple of perfection to be worshiped and adored while she watched.  This was her kinky dreams come true. 

She pulled away and turned her head to Todd.  “Todd, meet your new Daddy.”  Andre, still caught up in the rapture of her sweet, seductive kiss, squeezed her ass playfully, speaking in their non-verbal code that he was down for anything and everything that she had in mind.  He loved her.  He, like Todd, wanted anything that made her happy. 

Todd responded to the sound of Asali’s sexy voice like a Pavlovian dog, his breathing got quicker and the nerve endings in his body were on full alert and his mouth salivated.  He loved seeing her aroused. 

“Come with me,” she said and she pulled Andre along behind her as she went to the bedroom door.   She gave instructions before opening it.  “The rules are the same for you as they are for my sweet submissive.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, no always means no, and there are no judgements within these walls.” 

She probably had to explain those rules to the other people that entered the room but he and she had been lovers for a while, he understood her in all her complex and beguiling wonder.   He was trusting that she understood the reason for his deception was based on the same fear of rejection that she had had with him.  He was reasonably assured that she was not going to think less of him if he revealed a past that was not 100% what he had previously admitted to.  He had butterflies in his stomach but his hardening erection worked to distract him just a bit. 

Inside the room it was just as he had imagined.  There was a large, queen-sized bed on the right side of the room, clearing the way for the rest of the space that had sex toys and equipment set up all over.  There was what was the equivalent of a dog’s bed at the foot of the bed.  Andre pointed and asked, “Is that where you sleep?”

Todd shook his head no.  “I used to.  I mean, I would sleep there when Ma’am would sleep here or when we had company.  But she hasn’t slept her in a long time and Mistress told me that it was fine if I slept in the bed every night, that she didn’t mind.  She’s always been so thoughtful and generous that way.  It’s one of the reasons I fell in luuhhhhhvvv . . .” His words trailed off into the ethosphere.   He knew he had overstepped his boundaries.  Sure, he and Andre had bonded but his role was as a submissive, not a lover.  He never wanted his Queen to know that he loved her because he didn’t want her to be burdened with such unnecessary information.  She would never love him back and he knew it.  It was an unrequited love that tortured his every waking thought but it was also the same impetus to the sweet imprisonment of eternal servitude at the feet of the one he adored more than any other. 

Sensing his discomfort, Asali tilted his eyes towards her, lifting his chin with her finger.  “I’ve known you loved me from the day I told you that you belonged to me.  It was pretty easy to figure out.  Listen . . . I love you, too.  With that, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. 

Ten thousand volts of electricity shot through Todd’s body.  The world could end in that second and he would die the happiest man on earth.   He was in a daze.  He wasn’t even entirely sure what happened.  All he knew was his very next conscious experience was watching Asali and Andre making love on the bed in front of him.  He was nude, restrained in chastity, nipple clamps firmly in place, and one of his vibrating butt plugs was in his ass.  Asali had never had sex with anyone in front of him before.  It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.   

It was exactly as if Todd was living the experience through Andre, like their consciences got mixed up somehow and Todd could look down and see and feel what Andre was experiencing.   He could feel the warmth of her lips as he kissed them and the fullness of her magnificent breasts capped by protruding rock-hard nipples that were created to be sucked.  In the heat of the moment they changed bodies and Andre gifted him with the opportunity to experience Heaven on Earth.  Every thrust he gave her, burying his dick in the deep recesses of her exquisite universe, was him giving his heart his soul and his love and feeling her wet, hot, slippery, frothy love being given in return.  

Andre was purposed.  He had become masterful at reading Asali’s body and crafting his love-making around her responses.  Her moans told him everything he wanted to know in a covert code of grunts and groans that translated to how much pleasure she was experiencing.  Soft whimpers let him know that she was luxuriating in the sensations and wanted them to last as long as possible.  Loud breathing meant that she was climbing the ladder of ecstasy and craved more stimulation.  Feral, hedonistic grunts of un- intelligible origins signaled that she was in a primal state between the throes of pure, unadulterated pleasure and cosmic, orgasmic bliss. 

Asali rode him.  She rode him hard.  She was taking her own pleasure and nothing could stop her.  Todd stood mesmerized.  The room filled with the scent of her wet pussy and sweat and pheromones.  Breathing deeply, intoxicated and bewildered, Todd’s soul ached.  Before his eyes, he could see his Mistress cumming, impaling herself on the erect staff of her true Ebony King.  Exhausted, she fell to the bed; exhausted and satisfied. 

Andre, satisfied and drained sexually and emotionally but still unfulfilled physically, signaled for Todd to kneel at his feet as he stood.  It was Todd’s turn to whimper and moan.  He knelt before the powerful man and looked up.  He dare not make a move until told to do so.  Andre’s dick was beautiful: thick and long and standing proud and tall.  With his hands on his hips he directed Todd, “SUCK IT!”

Trembling, light-headed, Todd reached for that dick and held it in his white hand.  The contrast in coloring was amazing to him.  Even in the darkness of the evening light, he could clearly see the glistening juices of his Mistress thickly coating the entire length of that gorgeous penis.  His tongue came out of his parted lips and touched the silky glans of his new Daddy.  Salty, sweet precum mixed with heady, earthy lady-cum and filled his taste buds.  Todd licked like a puppy licks his brand new owner’s face on Christmas morning.  He wanted to taste every drop.  As many times as he’d imagined it, as many times as he had fantasized about tasting his Mistress’ pussy, never had he imagined it would taste like such sublime joy. 

Todd transitioned from licking to full-on sucking rather smoothly.  Before long, he was handling it like a pro, like he had been trained, and practiced, and he loved to do.  He used all his skills.  He wanted to please Asali and Andre equally.  He wanted her to know that he had been worth the investment and that he appreciated everything she had given him, made him into being.  He wanted to please him because he wanted his new Dom to enjoy being serviced and pleasured by a white man, to want more, to feed him that dick and let him swallow that cum all the time.  He wanted to be a slut for his new Daddy. 

Andre was blown away for the second time in one night.  Meeting a white man who had the racial sensitivity and consciousness of the most ardent Black activist and academic was mind-blowing.  Having that same white man on his knees in front of him and giving him head that was blowing his mind as he was about to blow his wad was too much to process.  Andre gently started fucking his face, not brutally at all, but he clearly took control. 

Todd’s senses were on overload.  In a parallel, surreal universe this could never happen.  But it was happening, here and now.  And just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, he felt her presence kneeling directly behind him.  Her moist, naked flesh pressed against his back.  Her nails pinched his nipples.  She whispered in his ear, “Suck that beautiful dick for me.  Show me how you love it.  Show me how much you need it.  Prove to Dre that you love sucking his heavy, thick, hard, Ebony column.”

Todd did just that.  He sucked that dick and put the most enthusiastic female cocksucker to shame.  Andre spurred him on.  “Yeah, suck that cum out of my balls.  You want this cum?  You want it?  Work for it.  Show me that you love the feel of my dick in your mouth.  Of fuck, that’s it.  Come on.  I’ve got a nice bigggggg . . . Ohh shiiiit.” 

Todd didn’t miss a drop. 

As with most fairy tales, they all lived happily ever after.   But it wasn’t the end.  It was just the beginning in fact.  Andre, Todd, and Asali embarked on an erotic journey together.  One that would push all their boundaries and have them re-define their limits. 

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