AfroerotiK

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

Showing posts with label cuckold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cuckold. Show all posts

Monday, July 18, 2011

My Wife is Fucking a Nigger


Just Kidding!!!!! 

I don't refer to Black people as niggers, EVER.  Not as a joke, not casually, I don't ever "let it slip", nor do I think impoverished or undereducated Black people are deserving of the word.  These images not about anyone's wife, not about cheating, not about anything cuckold, submissive, or humiliating.  It's just a series of beautiful, interracial images I took a few years ago.  

I thought I'd stir things up with the title a little bit to highlight the racism and prejudice that exists in interracial porn (although there is nothing pornographic about these images). I think they are an important commentary on sex between black men and white women and how those types of images are perceived and received by the public.  











Sunday, June 08, 2008

Blackmailed



Ronald Waterman had the perfect life. He was an annuities manager at an investment firm on Wall Street making more money than most people could ever dream of making. He’d made a few sound investments and done some trading that wasn’t really above board but he didn’t get caught and he made a bundle in the process so debt wasn’t a huge issue. He and his wife were empty nesters; their two boys were in college and staying relatively out of trouble, at least not the sort of trouble that would get them expelled. Considering they were spoiled rich kids who grew up on Long Island and didn’t know the meaning of the word restraint, Ron was pleased that he wasn’t paying for them to fail every class. One son was on a full scholarship for Lacrosse so his coach arranged to keep his grades up and the other son had been lucky enough in freshman year to find a girlfriend who didn’t mind writing all of his papers. That left he and his wife Tricia all alone in their 5200 sq. ft. custom built home.

They weren’t a particularly loving couple, it’s not like they fought excessively or argued, they got along pretty well in fact, but they weren’t particularly demonstrative towards one another either. Their friends and family would swear up and down that the couple loved each other, and in fact, they did, it was just a pseudo/sterile love that was based more on function than affection. Tricia was still “hot” according to Ron’s coworkers and friends. She stayed in the gym, had standing, weekly appointments in the salon to make sure her dark roots never showed, and her Barney’s credit card never went more than a few days without some activity. At the annual Christmas Party and cookout, she would wear something juuuuuust revealing enough to show off her salines but she was far from the only desperate housewife in attendance who had fake knockers. Ron and Tricia were taking advantage of their freedom and they had some friends with whom they would swap and swing and have hedonistic parties where they would all get high on X and screw until the wee morning hours. Ahhh, life in the burbs was good.

If there was ever a man who was the master of his own domain, it was Ron. He had money, power, freedom, and a wife most men would kill to have. So of course, he was miserable. He hated every second of his life and was consumed with thoughts of extremes. Ronald craved more. He wanted more money, more power, and more sex. Well, he didn’t want MORE sex; he wanted dirtier sex, perverse sex that bordered on the obscene. He was a sex addict, addicted to stimulation from any source: gay, straight, transgendered, alien, animal, vegetable, or mineral. At work, he would look at hardcore porn on his laptop all day long. He got a thrill from having his office door open and pretending to work while he was looking at porn. Of course, there were times when he would close the door and take off his clothes and stroke his cock to completion because he was just so desperate to cum. One of his favorite lunchtime activities was to go to the bathroom on other floors of his office building and “leave his mark” on the stall walls. There were a few bathrooms that had glory holes and if he timed it just right, he could suck off a few cocks and have a “three cum martini” lunch with no one the wiser. Butt plugs and frilly lace and satin lingerie completed his wardrobe under his conservative suits almost every day without exception. On the train ride home he would pull out his cock and stroke it furiously beneath a book, hoping to get caught but terrified that he would. If anyone had paid attention, they would have wondered why he’d been reading The DaVinci Code for five years straight.

In his car, Ronald would drive by apartment buildings, hospitals, shopping centers and even schools so he could take out his cock and pull it with the hopes that someone would see him and get aroused. When he got bold, he would expose himself to some poor woman and when she screamed in horror, he would race off and swear to never do it again, until the next time the urge hit him. If there was ever a case of someone being a pervert, Ron was a textbook example.

Ron’s wife was totally fucking clueless to her husband’s dark side. Years ago, when Ronald told Tricia that he needed time to wind down after a stressful day at work and that he was NOT to be disturbed for at least an hour, she didn’t question him nor did she care what he did during that time. She never went in his “man room” downstairs and while she figured he had some porn down there to watch on his 52-inch flat screen, it didn’t really bother her one way or the other. As long as she could buy whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, Tricia really didn’t care if he had a Cambodian sex slave chained up down there.

Ron was meticulous in taking off his lingerie and putting it in the secret closet he had built. He had more stilettos than his wife and his wardrobe was probably just as big as hers but certainly more trampy. Mini skirts, wigs, rubber and fetish gear, every sort of fetish attire lined the walls of his covert dressing area. The fact that he had enough sex toys in there to open a small sex store would be impressive to most but it was never enough for him. He wanted to own every sex aid known to man and almost monthly he’d spend several thousand dollars buying toys off the Internet. There was a full-length mirror in the closet so when he got completely naked and pulled out his butt plug, he could see his gaping, red, swollen hole. He liked looking at himself lick and suck that filthy butt plug straight from his asshole, first smelling it and getting turned on by the scent of his ass and then making a show of licking the brown streaks and tasting the bitter remnants that made him crazed with lust. The filthy, raunchy nature of his actions would make him desperate to ride a huge dildo while he reveled in his disgusting pleasures. When he finally emerged from his play area, showered and dressed conservatively in his khakis and polo shirt, he would kiss his wife on the mouth and get aroused all over again with the knowledge that she had no clue what he had just done.

Dinners were always mundane. The food was excellent but the conversation was always a bore. It seemed the only things they could discuss were the boys, their plans for vacationing in Hyannis Port, and if the landscapers killed off the azaleas. They were superficial people with superficial lives and content to stay that way.

On a typical day, The Waterman’s would retire to the family room, share a cognac, and watch a little TV. With a few hours of the formalities of married life out the way, they would each go they own separate ways, Tricia to scrapbook or gossip with the neighbors or something, Ronald to indulge in his fetishes. Safely secluded in his private domain again, it was then that he could really let his hair down so to speak and spend several hours indulging in whatever his twisted mind could conceive. When it was time for bed, three or four times a week, they would “have sex”. Most nights, sex would consist of Ron going down on Tricia and eating her pussy. Penetration was a rare occasion for the pair because his cock wasn’t big enough to satisfy her even when he could pop a full boner. He much preferred to stroke his cock and imagine different scenarios being played out in his head.

One would think that because he and his wife were relatively distant, that he would never fantasize about her. In actuality, Tricia was the primary focus of his sexual imagination. Ron dreamt of seeing his outwardly conservative Junior League, Daughter of the American Revolution, PTA wife in the most degrading, undignified, shameful scenarios. In fact, on the rare occasion he could get completely hard, it was always to fantasies of her being savagely fucked by a group of black men with enormous cocks that treated her like less than trash.

It never failed that when they were coming home from visiting her parents in NJ, Ron would “get lost” in Harlem, driving up and down streets, secretly hoping to get carjacked. In all of his travels, the worst thing that ever happened was somebody offered to give him directions to the L.I.E. Tricia would heighten his arousal by bitching and complaining the entire time, fueling his desires with her paranoid, racist rants. “JEEZ Ron, can’t you ever fucking get anything right? I swear, it’s bad enough that you insist on driving the Jag every time we go to my parents but you ALWAYS get lost up here ‘in the hood’. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to get raped by a bunch of those filthy, black guys.”

It probably wouldn’t have made any difference to Ron to know that his wife was secretly craving the exact thing she was complaining about. He didn’t hear her anyway, he was too lost in his own fantasies of seeing her abused, degraded, humiliated and used in ways that would make most people’s stomachs turn. In his mind, it wasn’t about her desires anyway; his arousal came from the fact that Black men with big dicks would take what was his and use it practically to the point beyond recognition. He got off on the idea of filthy, dirty black men making his pristine property something untouchable. Yeah, he wanted to see his wife writhing around in pleasure, to see her coming in an endless string of orgasms that left her weeping and shaking but it was the idea of Black men defiling her that got him off. His cock wouldn’t even get a tingle at the thought of his wife being gangbanged by Asian guys or Latino men. He’d seen his wife pleasured by a group of white men before and, while it certainly was hot to see Tricia being passed around like rag doll, he needed to see the contrast, he was desperate for Black dudes to fuck her because to him, Black men were like animals, barely human savages bred for fucking white women.

Ronald saw the opportunity to make all of his dreams come true when he got careless at work. As usual, he was pulling his cock and looking at one of his favorite websites where white wives were getting gangbanged by Black guys. He was on the verge of cumming when he heard someone clear their throat. He slammed his laptop closed and looked up, cock in hand, and saw the new guy from the mailroom. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t you know to leave my mail on my assistant’s desk? Get out you dumb . . .” He desperately wanted to call him a nigger, inspired by the way the Black men were throwing it around in the video he was watching, but he got scared at the last second and refrained. “What are you looking at? Get OUT!” He shoved his cock back in his pants and felt his face change to crimson red but his sense of superiority and arrogance outweighed what should have been his shame.

Calmly, the young man placed the mail on his desk, stared Ron in the eye, and said, “I’ll be sure to leave your mail on your secretary’s desk in the future. For the rest of the day, Ron waited for the backlash. He was sure within an hour, everyone would know what happened and he was busy constructing lies and figuring out a way to get that guy fired. By the late afternoon, no one even seemed to look his direction and by the next morning, everything seemed normal. He saw the guy walk past his door and deliver the mail without even looking in his direction. He casually walked out to his administrative assistant’s desk and said, “Is that a new mail guy? I’ve never seen him before.”

Lourdes, his sassy Puerto Rican assistant said, “Yeah, that’s Kamal, he just started this week.” Ron saw her lick her lips and stare at his ass that couldn’t be hidden in his baggy khakis. Her admiration only lasted a second and she went right back to the overwhelming amount of work she had on her desk, having to shoulder most of the work that Ron was supposed to do that he put off on her. While he was able to see the lust in her eyes, what he didn’t detect was any indication that she knew what had had happened yesterday. He walked back in his office, afraid to engage in his usual routine of looking at porn, and sat in a daze for several hours.

By lunchtime, his curiosity got the best of him. He went out looking for Kamal to find out what his deal was. Any normal person would have blabbed to everyone and then some. As luck would have it, he saw Kamal enter the men’s room at the far end of the 18th floor. Looking around to see if anyone else was around, he entered a few seconds later.

Standing alone at the urinals, Ron could see the broad shoulders and muscular back of the mail boy. At 6’ even and maybe 230 pounds of hard flesh, Kamal turned his head slightly when he heard the door open and then went right back to his business. Ron walked to the urinal next to him and pulled out his cock. He glanced down to see Kamal’s dick. The strong yellow stream of piss hit the back of the urinal and Ron could see what had to be nearly 8 inches of soft dick extending from Kamal’s fly. Pee shy, he willed himself to urinate and said, “Listen, about what happened—you know, yesterday. What do we have to do to make sure that none of that gets out?”

Putting his dick back in his pants, Kamal said, “Yeah, don’t sweat it,” turned to wash his hands and left without saying another word.

That didn’t register with Ronald. In his white world, everything boiled down to money or sex or some combination of both. There was no way he was going to let some punk 25 year old get away with having anything over his head so he followed him to the lunch room. Sitting down at the table next to him, he quietly said, “Look, I’ll give you $25,000 bucks, no questions asked, but you have to sign a paper saying that you won’t say anything.” There, that should fix him, that was more money than that kid would make in a year and it was barely a drop in the bucket to Ron, nothing a few strategically misplaced zeroes on a balance sheet wouldn’t take care of. He glanced down at Kamal’s lunch and made a mental note that he found it odd that someone with such obvious muscle definition was eating nothing but a salad and fruit.

This time, more assertively, Kamal said, “I told you, don’t sweat it.”

Ron felt like a reprimanded child. His anger raged and he wouldn’t be held hostage by some fucking high school dropout who couldn’t get a better job than dropping off mail. Unfortunately, his perversion got the better of him and he started calculating in his head how he could use the situation to his advantage. He inched his chair closer, his leg touching Kamal’s under the table. Leaning in, he whispered, “Okay, I was just doing what all us guys do, you know. And—look, it’s no big deal but I just don’t want everyone knowing my business and I have an offer for you. I think I have something that you might want that’s better than money. I’ll make a deal with you. You come out to my house this weekend, bring some friends why don’t you, as many as you want, and I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. You can split the money with your homies any way you want. In exchange, we can make sure my little secret is kept and it’s all good, right bro?” He smiled and put out his fist like he wanted a pound.

Kamal pushed his chair over several inches and said, “Look, I don’t want whatever it is you are offering and I told you twice already that it’s no big deal. If you want to jerk your little dick off at work, I don’t really give a damn. You white boys are all crazy any damn way.”

The fucking nerve of this kid was outrageous. Ron was pissed. How dare he refuse to negotiate like a man. Forget the fact that he hadn’t even heard that Kamal was willing to put the entire thing behind them; all he heard was “little white dick”, “white boy”, and “crazy”. Who the hell did he think he was? Ron couldn’t comprehend that a black guy was pulling the strings so he blurted out, almost loud enough for others to hear, “You can have my wife, you can do anything you want to her, she’s yours, in exchange for your silence.”

There, that would solve everything. What black guy wouldn’t JUMP at the opportunity to fuck a hot white wife? Ron learned that it wasn’t the proverbial carrot he thought he was going to tempt Kamal with when the young man wiped his mouth with his napkin, threw it on his remaining food in disgust and pushed his chair back. He walked away without saying a word.

For the next three months, they played the same game. Kamal would ignore Ron and Ron would, in turn, obsessively try to figure out what motivated this strange person. He learned that Kamal had been born in Trinidad and graduated with a 4.0 from community college because he couldn’t afford to finish his four-year studies in engineering. He belonged to something called The Ausar Auset Society but Ron didn’t have the intellect or patience to figure out what that was so he just wrote it off as some sort of Black cult. He overheard some of the temps talking about him and learned that he had broken up with his girlfriend a few months ago but still wasn’t dating. Nothing computed for Ron. How could this guy end up in the mailroom? From what he could tell, he was intelligent, articulate, and all the women thought he was good-looking, even the white women. If someone had told Ron that the reason Kamal couldn’t find a better job was because he was competing against boys like his sons who cheated and lied their way through college and who had jobs lined up on graduation because of nepotism and racial preference, Ron would have SCREAMED from the highest mountaintop that was an outrageous and sinful lie to discredit the white man. Too bad it was true.

It was in his nature to be manipulative, so Ron decided he was going to get what he wanted and he was going to do whatever he had to do in order to make it happen. He’d been tortured for months, fantasizing about Kamal fucking his wife. He called in sick one day at work and told his assistant that he needed several important documents on his desk delivered to his home. He specifically told her that Kamal was to deliver the documents, no one else, by noon and not a minute later. He put a note on the front door that Kamal was to come around back to the pool where he would be waiting for him.

Prompt, Kamal arrived at 12:00 exactly and read the note. He walked around the side of the house towards the back, cautiously, expecting some sort of set up. Sure enough, Ron was in the back by the pool, naked, with his wife, and she was on a lounge chair with nothing on but a pair of high heels with her legs high in the air and her husband’s tongue in her pussy. She screamed a blood-curdling yell and tried to grab her cover-up but Ron forcefully pinned her legs back to her chest so she couldn’t move. She was visibly shaken and Kamal froze, expecting the police to jump out any minute and arrest him for rape. He placed his bag on the ground and slowly opened the flap and extended the package to his employer. “Look, I don’t’ want any trouble, I’m just following your orders to bring these documents out to you and hand deliver them.” He placed the documents on the table and began to back away.

Ron smiled, “Here, don’t you want some of this hot pussy?” Tricia couldn’t believe her ears. Her husband was offering her up like a piece of meat without her consent or consideration.

Brazen and bold, Ron stroked his cock in front of Kamal. “Come here, boy. You know you want this. You know you want some of this white pussy. I’m offering it to you. No strings. Do anything you want to it and I mean anything. Fuck her mouth, her pussy, fuck her asshole. Make her choke and gag on your big black cock till she pukes all over it and make her keep sucking you off. Fist her slack cunt, piss on her, hell, piss up her, make her lick your filthy bunghole. Do anything you want to her. Dude, I really want you to fill her up with your black sperm. Yeah, fill up her white cunt with your darkie baby juice and get her knocked up.” He really wanted to use the N word but he wanted to wait until Kamal used it first to get the go ahead. He knew some Black guys were sensitive about that sort of thing and he didn’t want to get his head bashed in by jumping the gun.

Kamal held back his disgust and spoke calmly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you want me to do those things to your wife?”

Ron masturbated proudly as he just knew he was about to realize his dreams. Yeah, he was four or five guys shy of the gangbang he wanted to witness but this was as close as he’d ever gotten to his ultimate fantasy. “Man, come on, you know. Black guys are so hung and they—you know. God, why don’t you get it? Having a black guy fuck my wife is really nasty, thinking about her being bred black ‘n all.”

Ron had moved out of the way and Tricia was still laying there, holding her legs up by grasping the backs of her knees, her breathing calmed down now that she realized that Kamal wasn’t a total stranger but someone her husband knew. Her pussy was swollen and throbbing and wet with desire. She wanted all the things her husband had described and she was ready for the action to begin, no introductions necessary.

“You sick, twisted fuck,” Kamal replied. “First of all, I’m not some monkey stud to service your wife and second, impregnation is not a sexual fetish, it’s a right and a privilege you obviously don’t deserve.” For a brief second, the couple thought he was going to leave but he started to unbutton his shirt. Kamal spelled out everything. “You want me to fuck your wife because I saw you masturbating in your office that day? Is that right?” Ron nodded profusely. “You’re telling me that if I fuck your wife, if I degrade her, that I don’t have to worry about you harassing me at work anymore, that we can put this behind us once and for all and go on with our lives.” He continued, “And, I’m to understand that you want me to do anything filthy and nasty I can think of to your wife with your permission.”

Ronald could barely answer. He was crazed with lust. “Slap her, choke her, squeeze her tits until they are bruised, tie her up, anything man, do anything.” Tricia was fingering her pussy and moaning her non-verbal consent.

Kamal pulled off his shirt and let it fall to the ground. He kept on his white wife-beater and it contrasted rather ironically yet dramatically against his bronze colored skin. He steadied himself on the chair as he pulled off his pants and left his boots in place. He pulled off his boxers and it was Ronald’s turn to lick his lips in jealousy, envy, and lust.

Kamal’s muscular thighs were a masterpiece in ebony sculpture. His arms, his chest, his shoulders were formed to perfection. With a six-pack of abs that would make any personal trainer proud, Ron couldn’t imagine a more perfect specimen to use his wife. It was the meat hanging between his legs’s that made Kamal the ideal stud for Ron’s demented fantasy. At just over 8 inches, it was clearly double the length of his own tiny cock and the thickness didn’t have a scale to compare. It looked as thick as a can of beer and he wasn’t even hard. In fact, it looked like it weighed several pounds in and of itself and Tricia was fingering her pussy in anticipation.

“Here, get it wet.” Tricia moved to suck his dick but Kamal stopped her. “No, not you-- him.” He pointed to Ron and without hesitation, Ron was on his knees, kneeling before the young man, worshipping his big, black cock, trying to get it hard with his mouth.

Tricia had never seen her husband suck a cock before and there was something very thrilling about seeing him fag out over a beautiful, black one. “Oh yeah, honey, get that big monster wet so he can slide it in my tight, white pussy. Is that what you want to see? You want to see him pounding his big hard black cock in my cunt, stretching it, ripping it open? Yeah, get it nice and wet so he can ram it in my sweet, white holes.”

Grabbing Ron’s head, Kamal throat fucked him without care or concern for his breath or comfort. Thrusting his hips and shoving every single inch down his throat, it was Ron himself who was gagging and choking on that gorgeous prick, not his wife. He didn’t care. To Ron, it was worth it so he could see his wife being fucked like a $2.00 crack whore. He sucked that cock better than he’d ever sucked any other cock in his life. By the time Kamal had pushed him away, his dick was fully erect, hard, throbbing, and dripping with spit. Grabbing a handful of bleached blonde hair, Kamal roughly pulled Tricia to her knees in front of him and said, “Let’s see who’s better at sucking my dick. Come on bitch, get to work.”

Ron was better. He’d had more experience sucking a variety of cocks. He had better technique without a doubt. That only made Kamal treat Tricia rougher, being unforgiving when she didn’t do it the way he wanted. He shoved his cock down her throat and she tried desperately to pull away, unable to breathe or move. She was gagging on the meat shoved in her throat and she her eyes were tearing. It was the stuff dreams are made of for Ron; his wife was being suffocated by a dick that was stretching her mouth to beyond capacity. He stroked his cock furiously with two fingers while his wife struggled to get her hand around the black cock that filled her slutty mouth. Her diamond wedding band shone in the sunshine and that image made Ron’s cock leak.

Pushing her away, Kamal commanded her to get on the lounger again and spread her legs. Anxious to move things along, she said, “Oh yeah, eat my pussy you sexy stud.”

Kamal laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Without any other explanation or commentary, he gripped the backs of her thighs tightly and rammed his dick in her pussy in one thrust, to the balls. Tricia screamed out in real pain. She’d never had a dick that big in her before, not even in college when she’d had a threesome with her roommate and some black guy from the football team.

“Easy stud,” she panted, half wanting him to take it easy on her and half enjoying the pain.

“Easy? What for? That’s what you want isn’t it? You think I’m some savage stud that can’t control my lust for you, right? You think I live to fuck white women, that I’m a barely literate thug who only gets hard for white trash suburban whores like you.” His comments stung Tricia but they turned her on at the same time. He was right so, yeah, she could go along with the game.

“Yeah, you big, black Mandingo, screw this white pussy good. Make it hurt. Show my husband how pathetic his little cock is. Make me never want his little thing again. Turn me into a slut for Black cock.”

“Do you even know what a Mandingo is you stupid cunt?” Kamal pounded harder and deeper.

Tricia was confused. What the hell kind of question was that to be asking her. She decided to go along with the game anyway. “You are. You’re my black daddy Mandingo and I’m your filthy white slut.” Her response seemed to anger Kamal and he became more brutal in his fucking. She tried to push him away but she wasn’t strong enough. She looked to her husband to see if he could control things a bit more but he was in a zone, fingering his asshole and stroking his tiny cock, insane with arousal. Things were just beginning to heat up in his mind, just the way he wanted. He wanted Kamal to use his wife and it didn’t matter to him if she enjoyed it or not.

Kamal grabbed a handful of Mrs. Waterman’s hair again and flipped her over on her knees. She was grateful for the reprieve on her pussy and was expecting things to go a little more smoothly doggy style. Before she knew what was happening, she felt the sting of Kamal’s hand on her pale, flat ass. “OWWWW,” she cried out, the heat and sting of the slap radiating through her body. Her body liked the rough treatment but her mind knew something was wrong. “What are you trying to do you black bastard, taking our your revenge for slavery on me? I didn’t own any slaves.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “I’m not exacting revenge for hundreds of years of slavery on you, you dumb bitch, I’m exacting revenge for being treated like an ignorant buck incapable of anything other than lusting for white women, weed, and cheap wine from a paper bag.” He grabbed her hair like the reins on a filly and pulled hard. He shoved his cock in her again, with more force, stabbing her womb with his weapon of flesh. Ronald inched closer. He wanted a front row seat to the show, to smell the scent of their fucking, to taste their nasty mixture of juices. He knelt behind Kamal and watched his muscular ass flex as he pumped his wife. The scent from his nuts was intoxicating and he marveled at the way Kamal’s smooth brown skin shone in the sun, damp with perspiration.

Tricia was in the place between pain and pleasure. She had never been fucked so savagely before in her life and she was going to pay the price for it tomorrow, but today, it was heaven. She liked being treated so roughly, even if she didn’t understand all the things he was saying. It was all part of the game, race play had to involve . . . some stuff about race or it would defeat the purpose, right? That was part of the fantasy, the hot suburban wife getting nailed by the ghetto thug. It wasn’t hot unless they were playing up the differences, exploiting the stereotypes. About the only thing she could contribute to the fantasy was her constant chants of, “Fuck me with your big black cock. Fuck this white pussy. Pump your black seed in my fertile white cunt. Harder, harder, treat my like a filthy slut for black cock.”

Kamal’s dialogue was a bit more explicit. “You fucking stupid white whore. You are too dumb to know that your man is sucking every dick he can get his hands on. The two of you think you are so superior, so much better than me, that fucking me is ‘slumming it.’ I’m better than you in every way you dirty slut. I’m going to use you, your pussy, your ass, and your dumb ass husband and you’ll regret the day you ever dreamt of having some Black buck fuck you to fulfill your ghetto fantasies.”

Those words registered with Ron as, “I love white pussy.” Wanting to rush things, Ron pleaded, “Fuck her in the ass. Shove your big black cock in her dirty asshole.” That was, after all, the nastiest form of sex. To have a Black man fucking his wife in the shitter was the ultimate degradation. He didn’t view Black men as men, or even human beings for that matter, so having his wife getting fucked in the ass by a black guy was symbolic of the most degrading thing she could endure.

Kamal pulled out and Ron dove for his dick again, tasting the elixir that was made up of the juices of his wife and his subordinate. Tricia wanted to feel that hard cock in her ass as well. She’d moved beyond the pain and felt nothing but sublime pleasure, filth, and raunch at the hands of her black stud.

Kamal backslapped Ron and sent him reeling backwards on the hard tile pavement. It wasn’t part of Ron’s fantasy but he could go along with it, again, because anything was worth seeing his wife being used like a piece of trash. He couldn’t touch his cock for fear it was going to explode. He was jealous of his wife, envious that she was going to have her anus stretched to beyond belief. He knew he could take Kamal’s dick, having ridden many huge black dildos in his time, but he doubted Tricia had had anything bigger than his little cock in her ass.

Kamal would have loved nothing more than to ram his dick balls deep in Tricia’s ass but he couldn’t. It just didn’t fit. He pushed and she cried out in pain. The more he pushed, the louder her cries became. She rubbed her clit furiously and shoved four fingers in her pussy, creating less room for Kamal to work his dick in her asshole. “Here, get it wet again.” He grabbed Ron by the hair and pulled him on his dick again. Ron used his tongue like magic and took everything Kamal had to give him and then some. He tasted the fresh ass juice from his wife’s rectum and savored the flavor. It tasted better than it had ever tasted before, mixed with the salty sweet precum of a gigantic black cock. He spit on his wife’s ass and pulled her cheeks open, encouraging Kamal once again. “Fuck her dirty asshole. Ram your thick, huge Black cock in her white butt.”

Without mercy or consideration, Kamal did just that. He shoved his cock in, pushed, shoved and rammed until every inch was embedded deep in Tricia’s ass. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he started fucking her, concentrating on making sure he drove every millimeter of his dick deep in her and withdrew it all the way to the head before he rammed it in deeper and harder than before. The only thing that made him stop was to take it all the way out so her husband could lick and suck his dick clean. He fucked her so hard he sort of felt sorry for her except she kept saying, “Oh god, please don’t stop, it feels so good.”

Kamal fucked her asshole for twenty minutes straight. Her ass was red from being spanked and her hole gaped open like the Midtown Tunnel. It was so loose and sloppy, he could barely feel any friction. “You, shithead, get over here and take her place.” He pushed Tricia out of the way and motioned for Ron to assume the position. He scrambled to get on his knees without a second’s hesitation at his wife seeing him accept a black dick but Kamal stopped him. “I want you to see my face.” Yeah, that would work for Ron, he could get off on that. He liked the idea of showing off his own little cock while he got a huge black one rammed in his manpussy. Mmmm, that thought was delicious. It was no longer about his wife, this was about the fulfillment of his sissy slut fantasies where he would become the whore for black cock, he would be degraded and used.

Kamal placed his hand over Ron’s mouth. If he was going to cum, he couldn’t listen to that insane “big black buck” drivel. He felt no mercy for Mr. Waterman so he fucked him like he was trying to kill him with his dick. His rage boiled up and he thrust deep and hard until he felt the first shot of cum go deep within his boss’s ass. He fell back, exhausted, and watched as Tricia dove for her husband’s dirty creampie without any instructions.

Both still aroused, the pair then collectively dove for Kamal’s cock, cleaning his cock of their collective juices. Kamal let them lick him from front to back before he aimed his soft cock in their faces and emptied his bladder. He dove in the pool and seemed to be cleaning himself of the stench and filth of the white couple. Dried and dressed, he left without so much as a goodbye.

Ron had never been more pleased with himself. He dove for Tricia’s pussy and asshole and ate her out for the rest of the evening, never putting on clothes, never more than a few minutes from trying to see if he could taste the evidence of her hot black fuck. The next day, he casually strolled into the office and saw a manila envelope on his desk. He opened it and found a DVD. His heart dropped. He opened it and placed the disc in his laptop. The camera had been hidden in the mailbag. He shut the laptop and called Lourdes on the intercom. “I want to see about getting a new intern. See if that guy from the mailroom might be interested.”

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Friday, November 10, 2006

Black Domme Training 101



The following is an instructional guide created with the sole purpose of training Black women how to control pathetic white bois. Submissive white bois only serve one function in life and that is to fulfill whatever twisted, perverted, kinky, disgusting desire that Black women possess. The Black woman is the center of the universe and all should bow to her beauty and majesty. There is none more exquisite or deserving of adoration. Submissive white bois are the most reprehensible creatures to walk the face of the planet and deserve to be treated with little or no regard. They are a useless waste of air that are best used to clean up the well used pussies of Black women after they have been fucked by real men, to suck the enormous pricks of Black men to show their inferior status and even to consume the waste of Black women. It should be noted that white men love being treated like that because they are so sick and twisted that they get pleasure from the most heinous acts. Please, don’t be afraid to think of innovative and degrading ways to treat your white boy. Creativity is the sign of a good mistress.

Normally, eating a black woman’s pussy is an honor and privilege that most white men should not be able to earn unless they are cleaning out the cum of a real man. In rare instances, when a black domme is in need of satisfaction and a real man isn’t available, she can use the services of a white boi to pleasure her. It is entirely up to her discretion. It is a good idea to use a tens unit to administer pain to the tiny genitals of the white sub. Don’t be afraid of damaging their little cocks. The white cock is the most disgusting thing in the universe and extra caution should be used to make sure that it is abused as much as possible and rarely allowed the pleasure of orgasm.

White cunts like to be on display as well, shown off so that people can see the depths of perversion that they will enjoy. Invite your friends to use his boypussy with their strapons and you will have a submissive white boy that will seek to please you that much more. Make sure that he doesn’t embarrass you in front of your friends and he should offer his potty mouth to them to drink their golden nectar. Provide enormous strapons for your friends to wear to punish him and be sure and tell them that it doesn’t matter if they rip his asshole and make it hurt. In fact, they should be instructed to try to ruin his hole when they can although it will be extremely difficult to do given the slutty nature of the white male. 






Don’t let them fool you that they don’t want to suck black cocks either. That pretense usually flies out the window any time they have a thick hard black cock in their face. They are cum sluts of the highest order and it’s only the cum of a black man that can fill their desires. They will suck that dick like a two dollar whore, jerking off their inferior cocks the entire time. The only thing they will want more is to have that slab of monster meat in their slack holes to be rammed and fucked like sissy faggot bitches. It’s a good idea to get him in the habit of cleaning up any black cock that’s been up his ass as well so that he can know his role as white man is to fully serve the superior black race in whatever way they see fit. Eventually, the slut will be so horny for black cocks, he will become a gangbang whore and you’ll have difficulty getting enough cocks to fill his insatiable hole. White boys should be discarded when they get to that point, left to find their own ways to satisfy their sick desires. They should only be kept around if they can provide financial tributes that elevate the black woman to her true place of royalty.

In conclusion, I want all black women to remember that it is ultimately their pleasure that is the most important thing and that white boys should be used in any way they can. The world will be a better place once Black women realize the true power that exists between their legs and they learn to harness that power to reduce white men to their true place of submission.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Dominant Black Tales and Submissive White Tails



Did she have a hidden agenda? Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors? By all outward appearances, that would appear to be the case. Mistress Desire was far more complex than superficial appearances would allow. Black, strong, confident, and proud, there was no mistaking that the Domina was proud of her African heritage and took pleasure in reducing her white submissives to whatever it was that they feared the most. There was a certain subtlety she possessed that could not be defined by labels.

She chose to meet him in a very public bar. It was a gay bar in fact, and it was on the evening of the citywide famous drag show. Queens weren’t the only people in attendance, butches, studs, lipsticks, straights, bisexuals and everyone in between showed up to revel in the god damned decadence and defiance the night represented. Anyone who wanted to thumb their nose at the status quo and acknowledge that they couldn’t be defined sexually by the strict and puritanical morals of the Bible belt felt comfortable showing up. There was plenty of hootin’ and hollerin’ for the glammed up female impersonators doing yet another rendition of “Rollin on the River” and “It’s Raining Men.” Her date for the evening did not fit in that category. After hours of subtle interrogation, she had determined that his greatest fear was being seen for who he really is. He was an introvert, a social recluse of sorts that wanted to keep his desires hidden from everyone, including himself. Inside, he was a slut. Not just any slut, a slut of the most insatiable, perverted, depraved kind. He wanted someone to force him to bring out his dark fantasies and help him to become who he felt he really was inside.

She was taking a chance that he wouldn’t show but she was betting that the chemistry and the desperation he felt to fulfill his desires would be motivation enough for him to make the leap into the unknown. She positioned herself at the far end of the bar at a table where she could see him enter. If her assessment was wrong and he didn’t show up, she would entertain herself with the spectacle of others that wanted to exhibit their sexuality for the entire world to see. He hadn’t cum in over three weeks and he had been nightly aroused with descriptive tales of her fantasies and desires. The Internet and the phone were vastly different than the adventure he was about to go on however.

Stevie Wonder could have seen him walk through the front door. Nervous as hell, he looked around the place needing only the tiniest of excuses to turn around and leave. The promises of mind-blowing strapon anal assaults and wild, uninhibited sexual release propelled him to move forward. He spotted her immediately. She didn’t have to signal for him or make her presence known to him; she exuded the regal stature whereby he knew her immediately. He made his way to her table and she had his favorite drink waiting for him. He downed it with one gulp and nervously looked around taking in all the sights.

“Bryan, did you do as I instructed?” He lifted his arm that had been lying casually in his lap above the table and showed his baby smooth, hairless body; the only hair remaining on his body being under his arms and above the neck. She placed her hand under the table and felt for the evidence of his other command. Apparent through his clothes was a harder than steel erection and the telltale signs of a cock ring. He swallowed hard as she stroked him through his clothes, knowing full well that he couldn’t cum restrained as he was. They settled back and began to converse; controlling the flow of the exchange with her eyes and her will. He knew he was being dominated and it was more than sexual.

She draped her legs over his and he instinctively began to massage her silken calves. He swallowed hard as he glanced down and realized that her pussy was exposed just inches away from him under her short dress. “Listen, can we get out of here? I did what you asked and I’m just not comfortable here,” he stammered, his eyes darting around the room to make sure no one he knew was there. She laughed politely and ignored his comment, stroking his exposed arm and caressing his face with her soft fingertips.

As the lights dimmed and a slow song began to play to supplement the time between performances, they were interrupted by the most breathtaking Black man in the bar approaching the table. Dressed impeccably, not a bit shy of 6’2”, masculine, and looking like he stepped off the pages of a magazine, he extended his hand to the nervous submissive and said, “Would you care to dance?”

“No thanks, I’m not gay,” Bryan managed to eek out, looking like a dear caught in headlights more than unassuming business professional that wielded so much confidence at his place of work.

“He’d love to,” Desire answered, moving her legs and placing her submissive’s hand gently in that of his suitor’s.

He was in a state of shock. He had specifically told Mistress Desire that he wouldn’t do anything with another man. He was straight. The confusion in his eyes, the panic, the anger overwhelmed him. He had limits that were not negotiable. Being submissive and being gay were too different things. “He stood firm on his decision, “No thanks,” he said with determination, “I’m not gay.”

He reached for his keys in his pocket and began to stand. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of games you are playing but I’m not interested, Go fuck yourself bitch.”

Desire laughed at his defiance, placed her hand gently on his arm, and leaned in close. Her voice was sweet and gentle. “Bryan, you are standing on the verge of all of your dreams come true. Before you leave, think about everything that we’ve been through to get to this point, are you willing to throw it all away for a dance? Think of all the nights online where your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and you were begging me to use you in any way possible. Think about the things you went through to gain my favor. You know I’m the only woman that can push you past your fears. Are you ready to throw that all away for a silly little dance? If you leave, you’ll go home and jerk off in solitude dreaming of the things that could have been. Do you want to do that Bryan? Do you want to abandon the potential for your wildest fantasies to come true?”

Her voice never went above a whisper. “You can leave you little bitch but don’t you dare think of contacting me again. Think about trying to find another Mistress like me that will make you feel like the depraved dirty slut that I bring out in you. Haven’t you always wanted to be the submissive bitch boy to a superior Black domme? The night of indescribable sensation that you’ve waited for is there for you. All you have to do is dance. Go! I won’t think about you ever again, but can you say the same thing about me?”

The synapses in Bryan’s brain were misfiring. He was pissed and aroused. The gentleman waiting for the dance chimed in, tired of waiting and said, “Listen, don’t worry about it.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait,” Bryan said meekly. Desire leaned even closer, the warmth of her body penetrating Bryan’s aura. She whispered something in his ear and leaned back. Bryan stood, fighting back the tears, and said with defiance in his voice, “Wait, I’d love to dance.” He knew that the dance was not the not to be the end of his test.

Slightly shorter than this beautiful specimen of a man before him, he didn’t even know where to place his hands. His dance partner took control. He placed Bryan’s arms around his neck and pulled Bryan close. Bryan swallowed hard, his frustration showing in the color in his cheeks. The alcohol in his system allowed him to relax just enough, knowing that this humiliation would be over in less than three minutes. He shut out the people around him and danced, it was more like moved to the music; he was never really that good of a dancer. Bryan had to hold on to reality. He was getting confused. The arms around his waist made him feel sexy. A feeling of security and arousal enveloped him. The sexy black shoulder that he rested his head upon was comforting. He could feel full lips brush against his neck and he yielded to the temptation to moan ever so slightly at the sensation. Strong Black hands caressed his ass. He froze momentarily; his ass had always been a highly erogenous zone for him but he made sure that he only fantasized about women taking him there. However, behind the safety of his closed eyes, in the secure embrace of the beautiful man that held him, he erotically thrust his ass back and forth, fantasizing about being fucked by his Mistress later on. The hands grabbing his ass were forceful and he loved the sensation of being taken . . . forced, which only cause him to grind his ass harder and harder against his dance partner.

“Uhmmm, the song’s over. Would you like another dance?” Bryan was snapped back into reality.

“No . . . hell no! I was just dancing with you because . . . No.” Bryan knew his defensiveness was transparent but he had to maintain his façade of defiance if only for his own sense of well-being.

Back at the table, Mistress Desire chuckled as Bryan slid into the seat next to her. The Black gentleman slid into the booth across from them. “You were so right Desire, his little cock was hard the entire time. And the way he was grinding his ass on me, I can tell he’s going to be one hot fuck.”

“I told you his slutty side would come out, Derrick. When will you learn to trust me?” Their laughter burning his ears like acid would burn his flesh. They were sitting there causally discussing his little cock, his slutty nature, and the plans that they had made to in advance. Bryan was incensed. He fumed at the thought that this was all a set up and he mumbled something under his breath. He stood to rise and leave when the gentleman said, “Sit down, bitch. We didn’t tell you that you could leave.”

A lump formed in his throat as Bryan felt helpless to move. His cock had no such limitations. It was raging hard and hurting from being constrained as it was. The casual power that the Black man had over him at that moment made him feel like the submissive slut he had longed to feel like. He wondered momentarily if they had slipped something in his drink to make him have . . . you know, those kinds of thoughts.

“What’s going on here? I thought . . .” he was mumbling incoherently. Desire giggled and ignored him momentarily.

“Oh, forgive my manners. Bryan, I would like you to meet Derrick. He’s my lover. We like to play together. He’s the male version of me, don’t you think? Derrick . . . you’ve already met Bryan.” The rapid eye movement of Bryan indicated confusion. “You didn’t honestly think someone as breathtaking as him would actually be attracted to someone like you, did you?” She laughed even louder, Bryan afraid that her amusement would be draw attention to them. He felt unattractive with her comment but that somehow aroused him even more. He wondered what people would think, a white man sitting there with two Black people. He was sure everyone in the place could read his mind. Bryan couldn’t even discern his own thoughts at that moment. All sorts of thoughts ran through his mind about what the two of them had in mind for him. He feared the outcome if he decided to let them go through with their plans and he was terrified of letting the extreme sensation of arousal that he was experiencing go.

For years, his attraction to Black women had consumed his every fantasy. He loved their strength and their assuredness. He loved their comfort and sophistication. White women hadn’t aroused him in the better part of four years or more. They were insignificant to him except on the rare occasion he fantasized about having a white wife that would be a slut for black cock. Occasionally, he would dream of having a white wife that craved huge black cocks fucking her mouth, pussy and asshole unmercilessly while he served the Black wives of those men in whatever degrading or humiliating ways they saw fit. Those thoughts didn’t seem realistic, his conservative wife would never think of such things, so he dismissed them as a fleeting fantasy. He was comfy defining himself as submissive to Black women. A submissive of the most extreme proportions. If he were to allow himself to be honest and frank about his own desires, there had been many nights he has dreamt of being forced to be a cross-dressing sissy for Black cock, but he wanted to be “forced” so he could absolve himself of the guilt of desiring those yummy Black studs. He allowed himself to freely fantasize about Black women all the time, and all the things that he would do for them.

“Let’s go,” her directive was simple and to the point. Out into the night air, Bryan had more reservations. All the “ifs” and the “what ifs” and logistics were causing him to panic. He stood helpless, like a child, waiting for further instruction. They were in control.

Derrick and Mistress Desire kissed in the darkness and shadows of the parking lot. They held hands and ignored Bryan but they were ever aware of his presence behind them as they made out while he watched. They approached an SUV and opened the back door and Derrick turned momentarily to tell Bryan to get in. Other than that, they were ignoring him as if he was insignificant to their arousal. Bryan, on the other hand, was mesmerized watching them kiss. Their skin looked so . . . different. They seemed so . . . powerful. It was intoxicating to watch them together.

He stepped in the back seat and closed the door behind him as he regretted not telling someone whom he was going to meet, getting some significant contact information from this woman in case something went wrong. Derrick drove while he and Desire chatted and laughed and occasionally looked in the rear view mirror. He went to adjust his cock as it had been hard for hours before meeting her and the dull ache in his nuts was a sweet and painful reminder of that fact. He wanted those nuts to be kicked, slapped, and twisted at the hands of the gorgeous mistress that sat in the passenger side of the truck in front of him. His boypussy was throbbing thinking about being fucked savagely. The pair in front of him seemed so sensuous, so oblivious to his presence, he wondered if they would forget about him and leave him to stroke his hard cock while he watched them make love or if he would be allowed to cum at all.

His thoughts were about to be answered as they pulled into the driveway of a lovely home. It was secluded and well maintained and more fears crept into his mind. He had more fears and more fantasies of what was to come as well. Desire slid the door open and said, “Get out.” He complied eagerly, in a fog of lust at that stage from the hours of pent up arousal.

As he stepped into the night air again, Bryan felt more alive than he had ever felt in his life. Mistress Desire circled him, her body close without touching him. She ran her nails along the side of his face lightly, sending chills down his body. “Undress,” she said calmly.

Bryan looked around confused. Surely, she was not going to make him undress in the driveway. It was too early in the evening; people were awake, watching television, someone might see.

“Undress now!”

As if in a trance, Bryan began to undress in the middle of the driveway. Derrick had entered the house and was nowhere in sight. He wasn’t sure what to do with his clothes so he folded them as he undressed and placed them in a neat pile on the ground. He removed his shoes first, feeling more comfortable with that accessory than a major piece of clothing. He removed his shirt next. At that moment, he wished he had the smooth, rippling muscles that most black men seemed to have and he felt ashamed of his pale complexion. Next to go were his pants. His tightie whities bulged obscenely in the front from the erection he was sporting and the cock ring in place. He pulled his socks off and stood in anticipation of his next command. He felt even more naked because he was hairless. Somehow, it made him feel more vulnerable.

“I said undress.” Her voice was so damned soothing and melodic, he felt helpless to deny her anything.

He slid his underwear down, his erection bobbing in the night air. Even at full erection, he was barely six inches. He always told inevitable Internet lie that he was six inches erect but that was only in the most extreme state of arousal. Tonight, he was convinced he might be a little more than six even.

Mistress Desire stroked his cock in the cool night air. The sensation was indescribable. Her hands were so soft and silky, he was under her control, people could be watching, and he knew that he had planned a night to explore his wildest fantasies. He moaned out loud as she stroked him with skill.

“Tell me what you want, Bryan. Tell me why you are here.”

The words came tumbling out of his mouth as if they had been rehearsed. “I want to be used by you, my superior Black queen. I want you to put me in my place as the inferior white boy that I am. I want you to take out your frustrations on me and make me your bitch. Humiliate me, Mistress. Force me to do unspeakable things. I want you to show me that you have power over me. Use me any way you see fit, Mistress. I belong to you.”

The more he confessed his desires, the more she stroked him. This Black woman, fully dressed, masturbating a completely nude white male in, seemingly her front yard, making him spill his guts. If anyone were looking they would have gotten an eyeful.

“Put your clothes in the backseat and bend over with your hands on the floor of the truck. He did what he was instructed to do and waited even further instruction.

“Let’s see if this pussy is as slutty as you claim it is,” she mused.

She spread his ass cheeks and rubbed her fingertip over his hole. He let out a slight moan. His knees were shaking and he was glad that he could brace himself on the frame of the truck, his ass exposed for the entire world to see. Mistress Desire slid her finger in to his unlubricated hole. That was nothing to him, he had gotten so used to fucking himself he actually leaked “pussy juice” as he called it when he was horny. His ass was always ready to be penetrated by a huge, black dildo any time of the day or night. She began fingering him harder, driving him to maniacal fits of pleasure.

She was giving him more pleasure than he had ever imagined. Gone were all inhibitions and he was anxious for more. “Oh, yessssss, Mistress. Finger my pussy, pleaaase.” If her fingers were just a little longer, she could have reached his spot. She knew exactly what she was doing and she worked his pussy like a pro.

She pulled her fingers out of his ass abruptly, causing him to cry out, his moans echoing off the cul-de-sac serenity. “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to the front door. Wait there until you are allowed in.” With that, she walked away up the walkway and entered the home.

Bryan was lost. He stood shakily and closed the truck door quietly, hoping not to draw any more attention than his previous moans and display had garnered. He willingly got on his hands and knees and crawled on the walkway to the front door. His hands and knees ached from the concrete but he relished the pain in anticipation of his fate to come. He knelt submissively at the door and waited. He suspected that they were watching him so he posed like a prize animal at a show. He arched his back and thrust his ass high in the air, showing that he was ready for anything. He lowered his head in submission, to prove that he was lowly and insignificant. His erection couldn’t be seen in his kneeling position but it was red from arousal and restraint. He wanted to be beautiful to all the eyes watching him, to whomever they may have belonged. He didn’t care if the nosey neighbors saw him; in fact, he wanted them to see him for who he really was. He wanted to be on display as a submissive to Blacks and he was proud of that fact.

In an instant, the porch lights were turned on and he was flooded with light. He maintained his composure and pride, sticking his ass out even more and lowering his head to the ground. His asshole was throbbing and desperate for penetration and his soul craved humiliation. At that moment, the door opened and he heard his Mistress command him to come in. He crawled forward with confidence and agility.

She stroked him like a pet, running her hands through his hair and down his back. Bryan purred like a kitten and humped the air like a bitch in heat. She placed a collar around his neck but he was afraid to tell her it was a little too tight so he suffered in silence. It was a good discomfort, one he would gladly suffer for the Divine Mistress that stood above him. She put a leash on his collar and pulled him in the direction of a back room. The carpet under his knees felt good compared to the concrete but the pain in his nuts was ever present.

She opened the door to a playroom and pulled him in unceremoniously. The furnishings were sparse but there was no denying it was a room for hedonistic desires. Not quite a dungeon and far from a spare bedroom, there were toys and tables, and chairs that had been designed for play. Derrick was there, naked and erect, oiled and glistening, a vision of ebony perfection. She dropped the leash and commanded Bryan to stay, like a puppy being trained. Desire and Derrick conspired, whispering and planning what to do with their toy. Derrick assisted her in undressing, the way they interacted making them look like dancers more so than anything else. Her body was a work of art. Her skin looked like the smoothest velvet and her curves were a sculptor’s dream.

She walked over to a table and picked up a strapon. Derrick helped her put it in place as Bryan began to whimper unconsciously at the thought of what was to come. “Silence, bitch,” as she continued to secure her harness and what looked like a nine inch black dildo to her sleek frame. Bryan was dizzy with lust and confusion.

Desire sat in a chair and motioned for Bryan to come closer. “This, my pet, is going to be very simple. You are going to suck my dick until you prove that you are a cock craved whore and then you are going to get your slutty white boycunt pounded by the most formidable Black cock that you’ve ever seen. Does that sound okay with you?” 



Bryan nodded furiously as he was anxious to get underway. She leaned back in the chair casually and Bryan took in every inch of her beauty. Her face was a face that could launch a thousand ships; her body was athletic and toned. Her nipples were dark and puffy and Bryan longed to feel them in is mouth. Her legs were out of this world. They seemed to go on forever. She stroked her strapon like it was real flesh. He approached her with confidence. He had sucked his own toys enough to know exactly how to do it. He had prepared himself to deepthroat dildos that didn’t look humanly possible to swallow.

His assault was calculated. He wanted to show her a cocksucker like she had never seen before. He had often fantasized what it would be like to have such a huge dick and he had practiced sucking his toys the way he would want his cock sucked if he were a black man. He maintained eye contact with her as he began to lick sensuously up and down the shaft. He licked the head and circled it with his tongue and began stroking it with his hand methodically. He licked up and down the shaft, inching his mouth closer and closer to the sweet pussy that lay underneath, the scent of it making his little red cock leak profusely with precum. He placed his mouth over the head and began his descent. Barely more than half of it was in his mouth and it was already hitting the back of his throat. It was thicker than he had ever sucked before but he was determined to show her that he was a good slut for her.

Her words fueled his passion to do an even better job. “Come on you dirty white cocksucker, show me what a slut you are for my juicy black cock. Suck my beautiful black dick. Tell me you love it.”

He went into a cocksucking frenzy. “Yes, Mistress. I’m in love with your big, black cock. It tastes so good in my mouth. I love being your white cocksucker. Feed me your cum.” He was sucking harder and faster, taking it deeper and deeper. His spit was dripping down the side; he wanted to be like the white whores he saw in all the videos that gave messy blowjobs.

She grabbed the back of his head and forced him all the way down on her “cock.” He choked and gasped for air and he felt like he was going to pass out. The head of the black toy was deep in his throat and he felt like he was going to puke. He kept sucking. He sucked and she pumped until they were in a rhythm. He was taking every inch down his throat in every thrust. Every time she would let him up for air, she would ask him, “Do you want some more?” He nodded affirmatively but he eagerness was evidenced in the fact that he wouldn’t stop sucking and licking that sexy black strapon.

“You’re ready to get your pussy fucked, aren’t you?” He nodded uncontrollable, only stopping for a few seconds before he continued to lick and suck and swallow her strapon. “Derrick, get him ready for me, will you please?”

Bryan froze for a second. He was past the point of pretense or care and all he wanted was to be used. He arched his back as he felt lubricant being poured on his hole. Derrick’s fingers were longer, thicker, and penetrated him more completely than Desire’s fingers had previously done. He moaned in appreciation of the stimulation and sucked that much more. She kept taunting him with her words,” you want to get fucked by a big black cock, to be a white faggot whore to be used by the Superior Black race, don’t you?

He didn’t have time to answer. His mouth was crammed full of the strapon and he was sucking it like a whore. At that instant, he felt the head of Derrick’s dick at the entrance to his pussy. He reached his hand back to feel its size and to guide it in but he wasn’t prepared for what he encountered. It was as thick as a beer can and twice as long.

“Noooo,” he cried out, “I can’t take that, please no.” The words coming out of his mouth rang of fear but his heart told a different tale. He craved the pain of being used by Black people to rid him of his horrible guilt, to make him feel as inferior had he knew himself to be. He wanted to be fucked like a white rag doll and he wanted to earn his punishment. The head burned as it penetrated him and he turned back to suck the strapon to distract himself. Desire had unhooked the dildo and spread her legs wide and presented him with her wet slit.

Bryan was experiencing sensory overload. A Black man was about to fuck him with the biggest black cock he had ever seen and before him was a sexy Black woman shoving her pussy in his face. He cried out, “Fuck me. Fuck my mouth, Fuck my pussy. Use me. Fuck me!!!” Tears formed in his eyes. He was lowered to a mass of flesh and lust at the hands of these Ebony gods.

The cock in his ass pushed its way past his sphincter and deep into his bowels. It hurt. It was the kind of pain ushered in by the grandest pleasure. The sweet, sexy pussy in his face tasted like heaven. He felt what he previously thought was impossible . . . Derrick’s balls were firmly against his own. He was impaled on that massive meat.

He licked the clit in his face furiously as he wanted his Mistress to come in his mouth. “More . . . more . . . more,” he kept chanting.

Derrick began slapping his ass and calling him names and it sent Bryan into a lust-driven high. The pounding was harder now; he was being fucked without mercy. His guts ached, his prostate had never had that sort of stimulation and he was eating the wet musky cunt of his sexy Nubian Mistress. His tears were uncontrollable. His balls were aching. He started stroking his own cock uncontrollably as he unsnapped the cock ring and let out a cry. His cum exploded from his prick as Desire held his head to her spasming pussy and Derrick unloaded blast after thick blast of thick, hot cum in his well used pussy. He passed out from the pleasure and the pain.

It was early morning when they dropped him off at the parking lot of the gay bar where they met. They had used him in so many delicious and unspeakable ways he couldn’t remember them all. They were kinder to him then when they first met, treating him like a pet now more than a plaything. He was desperate for some sign that he had pleased them. “Will I see you again? Would you like to use me some more?” The longing in his eyes a telltale sign of the delight he had taken in being fucked so completely.

“Know that tonight was child’s play compared to what you will experience again,” Desire said. They drove off into the early morning, masters of dominant pleasure.

Copyright 2004
AfroerotiK