I was old enough to be her ghetto
mama. There were at least 13, maybe 15
years separating our births, but the attraction between us was strong. Her skin was the color of the deepest ebony;
she was BLACK and her skin was hot and soft to the touch. To say she was sexy was an
understatement. She wasn’t sexy because
she happened to be beautiful. Her beauty
was part of the package but it certainly wasn’t the only ingredient in her
intoxicating blend of charms. She
oooooooozed sticky, sweet sensuality and feminine mystique. That, combined with an odd elixir of pheromones,
created a persona so confident, intelligent, and so goddamn unapologetic in the
space she took up on earth that she was like a Goddess. Every step she took was confident; her stride
swayed with rhythmic cadence. Her eyes
were captivating and she used them like weapons, drawing you in and beguiling you
with her charms.
She hunted me like prey. I wanted to resist her charms but I am, after
all, only human and subject to weakness of the flesh and will. I had not built up an immunity to her
seduction. I tried for weeks to dodge
her advances but eventually, we were alone, in my apartment and I was a victim
of her erotic wiles. On my sofa, with
nothing to distract us but the barely imperceptible crackle of the candles that
bathed us in a soft, warm glow, we talked and touched. She was in no rush and she was completely in
control; I was just along for the ride and where we were going I couldn’t even
begin to comprehend.
“Here, put your head in my lap,”
she instructed me and I quickly followed her command. I felt warm and safe there, staring up at the
ceiling as we conversed about life and love and the work of James
Vanderzee. The sexual tension in the air
was so thick, so high and tight, that it put Kid’s flattop in House Party 2 to
shame. In silence, she caressed my
body. My nipples responded to the gentle
touch of her fingertips on the exposed skin on the nape of my neck; my sighs
were a response to her erotic manipulations.
She placed her hand tenderly on
my throat . . . and left it there. With skillful
ease, she began the most erotic massage of my neck. Her stroke was sensual, soft, but it grew
more firm and intentioned gradually. The
sensations I felt were new, exciting and her eyes never left mine and she began
to apply the slightest pressure to my throat.
I was moaning, or I should say, I couldn’t help myself from
moaning. I was in an erotic trance. I kept getting more and more aroused. I didn’t understand what was happening; all I
knew was that I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted and needed more. Every time she would squeeze my neck just a
bit harder I felt the blood rush to my head, it pulsed and throbbed but it wasn’t
just in my head. My pussy felt the
sensations just as much. I was in a trance,
a daze from lack of oxygen and an excess of arousal.
“More, I whispered,” and she
responded in kind. She grabbed my throat
and started to squeeze harder. The
sensations in the back of my eyes, in my clit, were like nothing I’d ever felt
before. My body was thrashing around on
the sofa and I was grabbing her hand with my own, trying to get her to squeeze
harder, longer; I wanted her grip tighter.
She tormented with me her sexy talk, telling me how sexy I looked, how
wet her pussy was getting seeing me so turned on. This was the epitome of erotic asphyxiation;
she was choking me, controlling me sensually.
I wasn’t for a moment afraid. My
life was in her hands, literally, and I felt so close, so exposed, so aroused.
She knew how to control my breath
and my body. I was communicating to her
with my eyes; telling her when to stop, how much pressure to apply; that I
loved every second of it. Eventually, I
couldn’t control myself. I unzipped my
jeans and slipped my fingers to my engorged, sensitive clit and rubbed it in a
circular motion. I was so turned on, so completely
soaking wet; I knew I wouldn’t last very long.
She knew I was about to cum as well and she held my throat and firmly in
her hand and applied even more pressure.
I thought I was going to pass out.
I wanted to gasp for air but I couldn’t.
My body tensed up and . . . orgasmic
explosion and the breath of life collided in erotic bliss.
I never saw her again. She drifted off into obscurity, out of my
life but not out of my mind. The
impression she left on my throat was not nearly as lasting as the one she made
in my memory. To this day, that night
remains one of the most erotic experiences of my life.
Copyright 2013 AfroerotiK
