The Admiration of Lovers

Savannah Film Festival

The first week in November is my favorite time of the year.  It’s the time of the annual Savannah Film Festival and my own personal time for indulgence.  I just pack up a bag and head down to Savannah where I’m transported to a different place in time.  If I’m lucky, I can catch the fall foliage colors, hit the museums, and listen to some great jazz while I’m there as well.   Usually, I go as a spectator, taking in the film and surrounding myself with culture.  This year was going to be particularly special for me.  I was going to be debuting my first erotic short film.  Upon leaving last year, I decided I could do the same thing some of those other people I had done and set out to tell my story on celluloid.  I was nervous because there was no “genuine” Black erotic film out there and I was afraid of how it was going to be received.  I didn’t want people to think it was porn and I didn’t want intellectuals overanalyzing what I was intending to do.  I wanted to present to the world twenty minutes of cerebral dialogue, intense emotions, and exquisite lovemaking between Black people. 

I was disappointed because it was yet another milestone in my life where I didn’t have a partner with whom I could share my accomplishment.  I couldn’t dwell on it; I had to expose myself to the world.  I knew most people wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, so I just meditated on staying grounded.  I spent the morning in Forsyth Park right across the street from my Bed and Breakfast.  For me, staying in the Magnolia Inn was a far different experience than the other guests.  For me, it was a reminder of the slaves that labored to build its opulence while they lived as less than humans.  I thought of the black women that had been the possessions of white genteel masters that had to entertain late nights in the very chambers where tourist now casually laid their heads and long for the days of old.  No, for me, Savannah was the vehicle to my history, a dark and painful past that came alive to me in the tortured whispers of my ancestors. 

The Lucas Theater was relatively packed.  I held my breath and recited my brief introduction like I had rehearsed 52 times in my bathroom mirror.  I was praying that people would not be able to tell that I had never directed a community play before, let alone an erotic film.  I closed my eyes and let the entire thing play out in my head, I knew every second of that film by heart.  By the time it was over I had finally exhaled.  The kudos and the backslapping reigned down supreme.  Everyone was congratulating me on a job well done and talking to me about features and a whole bunch of movie industry terms I had never heard of . . . but I played along like I had. 

I saw him lingering in the periphery, waiting to make his approach.  He looked nervous almost, or hesitant might have been a better description.  The crowd thinned out and he made his way to me.  “I loved the fact that you gave him a sense of responsibility.  He was selective with whom he slept, I appreciate that commentary.  So many sexual representations of Black men make us out to be callous and indiscriminate with our partners.  Thank you.”  He turned and started to walk away without further introduction. 

“Wait . . . thanks . . . wait . . .”  There was something about his demeanor that, while soft-spoken, was genuine.  “No one else got that.  Everyone else thought it was just about the sex.”  He turned to face me and I couldn’t tell which one of us was more unsettled.  I didn’t want him to walk away but I was scared to appear too eager.  He was beautiful, there was no denying it, but more than anything I wanted to ask him what he thought, how the movie made him feel.  We stood in silence and stared at each other in awkward pause.  “My name is Robert, I really loved your work.”  We grinned and exchanged pleasantries through the awkwardness. 

“Do you have plans for dinner,” he asked, “If you like seafood, the Sapphire Grill is the best place in town.  I’d love it if you joined me.  We can celebrate the debut of AfroerotiK.”   It looked like it took every ounce of courage in him to ask me but I was the one that was nervous and flattered and speechless.  I felt like a schoolgirl being asked out to prom.  I accepted and he agreed to pick me up at 8.

Dinner was magical.  The conversation was seamless; we laughed and talked well into the evening.  We spoke of erotica and what it meant to us as Black people.  He listened intently as I went off into my passionate discussion of my work and what I wanted it to accomplish.  Wine loosened my inhibitions and I inched closer whenever I could, I made a point to rest my hand on his arm when he made a particularly interesting point.  I let my leg linger on his under the table and made sure my eye contact let him know in no uncertain terms that I was attracted.  I was feeling rather brazen, at least for me who spends the majority of my time in front of a monitor with little or no human interaction for weeks at a time. 

We stood at the steps of the Magnolia Place and talked some more.  “So, I have to ask one more thing. Was your film about your own personal experience?”  If anyone else had asked me that I would have been offended.  That was personal information that no one had a right to know.  The truth of the matter was that I was in everything that I wrote, every erotic story I created.  I knew my feelings and motivations better than anyone, so I didn’t have to guess what a character would say, or how she would react.  All of my erotica represented a side of me that didn’t have an outlet in real life. 

I looked him intently in his eyes and, without answering, took his hand in mine and turned to walk up the ivy-covered steps of the inn.  There was no turning back and I didn’t even have time to formulate a plan.  I was going off of pure adrenaline, and merlot.  Andrew Jackson would probably be rolling in his grave if he knew the things that were going to happen between the two descendents of slaves in the room named after him.  I didn’t want to speak; it would have broken the spell.  I just wanted this to transpire like a movie in my mind—a sensual, erotic scenario of artistry and magic. 

I kept the lights off as we entered the room and dropped my bag by the door.  I didn’t have to worry about what to do next as Robert turned me around and pulled me to him.  I loved that masculine instinct that took over, that thing men do when they want to unleash that primal beast.  It supercedes the reserved, conservative nature that some men have.  It’s so sensual; it makes me feel wanted and desired.  He pulled me into his arms and I reveled in the sensation.  I could feel his hands caressing the small of my back.  I didn’t want to speak because that would have broken the spell.  If I started talking, my doubts and fears would have crept in.  I didn’t want this to stop.  I wanted to live life for once with no safety net. 

The heat was intense between us.  I threw my head back and felt his lips on my neck.  My fever was rising.  I was unbuttoning his buttons as we moved backwards to the bed.  His kisses tasted sweet, his tongue was soft and yielding.  He gently laid me back on the bed and undid the ties of my wraparound dress.  I felt sexy, revealing myself to him like that.  My breasts were aching to be touched and caressed.  My eyes had adjusted to the dim light that peaked through the heavily curtained windows and I watched as he undressed at the foot of the bed; his golden brown skin a delicious contrast to my slightly darker mocha.  My hands caressed my secret places in anticipation.  He lifted my hips and removed my wet panties.  He held them to his face and inhaled deeply my scent. 

I slid back on the bed and he prepared his complete and relentless seduction. My neck was his first target and he kissed and sucked it, cradling in the gentle slope of my throat, licking his way to from my shoulder to my ear.  I threw my head back and moaned; it was my signal to him that I loved every second of his attention.  He found my hot spot and began gently sucking on it while his hands found my breast and began massaging them.  My nipples were aching from arousal as he slid his mouth lower and began sucking and licking all over my breasts.  My arousal was climbing to a fevered pitch as he was arousing me like he had a map to my body and knew exactly how to pleasure me.    I watched in amazement as he kissed his way down my stomach and made my belly button into an erogenous zone.  He made love to my tummy with his mouth; pampering me in a unique way no one else had ever thought to do.  The teasing became more intense.  Robert began kissing his way down the fronts of my legs, my hips, my inner thighs, every place except my incredibly aroused pussy. 

He positioned himself between my legs.  I was grabbing the sheets and thrusting my hips forward trying to get his to lick me.  He was blowing hot breath on my parted and aroused lips; the moistness of my inner flesh evident on my pink folds.  His mouth made love to my sweet, sticky center.  His tongue softly licked my clit and made me cry out with pleasure.  His fingers entered me and drove me to the edge of orgasm.  He was playing my body like a fine tuned instrument.  Giving me pleasure became his sole objective.  I was mumbling incoherently, “Yes . . . oh shit . . . yeah, lick my pussy . . . fuck . . . fuck me.”  I was pulling my nipples and his hands were caressing every inch of skin he could reach.  I placed my hands on his bald head and rested them there because he didn’t need instruction where to go.  He held my long legs up in the air and broke his silence with a pointed question, “Do you want me? ” 

I needed him more than I needed air at that moment.   I let my eyes respond, my eyes, my body and my heart.  I was relinquishing control, giving myself to passion.  I couldn’t stop; there was no turning back.  I didn’t want to be reserved and alone.  I wanted to feel like a woman and I wanted Robert to take me there. 

My moans were louder than they should have been.  He was teasing me and he knew it.  I needed to feel him inside me and he was torturing me with his slow seduction.  His mouth lowered to my hard nipples and I cradled his face in my hands.  I watched him in awe as his left hand touched my body like a paintbrush to a canvas.  He stopped only to position himself at my core and drive himself inside me in one thrust. 

“Mmmmm, no, yes, wait, don’t stop.”  My hands grabbed his ass and pulled him to me.  We fell into a rhythm, a solitary unit of passionate expression.  I was riding high and about to cum.  I shut my eyes tight and felt it about to hit me.  I pulled him to me and wanted to feel every ounce of his weight on me as I reached that place that I can only find in the passionate embrace of a beautiful black man.  His body tensed and I could tell his orgasm was only a minute or two behind mine.  My wetness coated him and added to the soundtrack of pleasure we were experiencing. 

He held me in his arms and I drifted off into a peaceful slumber.  I already knew what my submission to next year’s festival was going to be. 

Ó 2003 AfroerotiK

A Moving, Erotic Embrace

Minority Affairs

Seduction

All too often we use words without really knowing the definition of them.  Someone asked a question in my Facebook group that wanted people to share their definitions of what romance and seduction meant.  No one answered.  When I commented about that, what followed were responses that indicated that romance and seduction were foreign concepts to people.  It makes sense, we don’t teach, talk about, or provide a space for discussions of romance or seduction.  We either consume porn in private and in public decry that anything related to sex is taboo or forbidden.  We can’t even have healthy conversations about romance and seduction.  That’s tragic.  I asked a friend of mine what he would do to seduce me and he responded that he would take me to dinner at a jazz club.  That’s not seduction, that’s a date. 

According to the AfroerotiK Guide for Romantic Survival, romance can be defined as doing something special, going above and beyond to show your partner that you care for them, for their feelings, it’s taking the time to express your feelings for them in a way that would make them see how much you value them.  Several examples would be: writing a love poem for your partner and putting it on their car windshield while they are at work without them knowing it, planning a picnic with all their favorite foods and bringing it over on a rainy day, or making a planned public display or declaration of love that conveys that your feelings go beyond affection.  It doesn’t have to involve money.  It is not limited to one gender expressing romance to the other.  Romance is showing your partner that you have put effort into thinking about putting a smile on their face when you aren’t with them. 

Seduction is romance with the intent of stimulating the libido.  When I was in college, my boyfriend planned an erotic scavenger hunt for me.  He purchased wine glasses (which I still own) a night gown (that I kept until it fell apart), and some sexual aids for us to play with.  I spent the day finding all these items and getting more and more aroused as to what was going to happen when we got together.  Seduction is buying the candles, the massage oil, the erotic board game, the blindfold and the handcuff.  It’s not only buying dinner, it’s eating that dinner on the floor and feeding each other and licking and sucking each other’s fingers.  Seduction is running the bubble bath for two and massaging and caressing your partner to get their engine revved up.  Seduction is much more than just extended foreplay.  Seduction is making the bed with satin sheets before your partner comes home and having the Barry White queued up ready to go at the click of a button on the remote.  It’s telling your partner with your actions that you want and need to be intimate with them.  Intimate doesn’t mean it has to be soft and tender and gentle.  It simply means that you want to express your love in a very physical way. 

What romance/seduction is NOT.  It’s not lying to someone or pretending to be what they like in order to get them in bed, that’s manipulation.  It’s not getting along with someone more than others, that’s chemistry.  It’s not going out to the movies and holding hands, that’s affection.  It’s not saying, “I love you,” when you get off the phone or leave for work.  It’s not having extended foreplay or sex for a long time.  It’s not buying flowers on Valentine’s day because it’s expected or buying a card or gift after a fight to say that you’re sorry. 

Sweet to Eat

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At Last

My entire relationship with Charles, what little there was of it, consisted of countless opportunities for emotional growth and never-ending nights of frustration. We hadn’t been dating long, only a few months, but our liaison was defined by what seemed to be an endless supply of patience on Charles’ part and innumerable occasions for me to redefine myself anew. Unfortunately, I am plagued with a biological preponderance for self-doubt which he was challenging me to face head on. My mother hadn’t bonded with me during her pregnancy thus I was left challenged to form healthy, loving relationships as an adult. My brain had been wired differently in the womb than most people’s, my subconscious mind operated under the assumption that I was inherently unlovable and intrinsically without value despite how much work I’d done on myself, no matter how many rituals I’d performed, regardless of how many pages I’d written in my journal or affirmations I’d recited in the mirror, even in spite of how wonderful I believed myself to be in my heart. I’d taken tremendous strides toward healing and I had shown marked improvement and I was more than willing to exert the effort needed for me to tackle the internal demons that had been preventing me from attracting someone who was capable of loving me unconditionally.

Apparently, I was doing something right, because I had attracted this amazing, enlightened man of my dreams into my life. So while I didn’t entirely feel worthy of his love, I knew in my heart and in my soul that I was divinely worthy of a love that was greater than my mind could imagine and Charles was intent on proving to me that he wanted to give me every bit of his love. From the moment we met, from the moment I laid eyes on him, I was drawn to his energy, his aura, and his incredible beauty. Initially, in his presence, I felt like he was going to reject me at any moment; I felt like he would prefer someone with a name like Ausar Nut Ma’at Imhotep, who wore locs and constantly smelled of patchouli oil, and who carried around incense and shea butter in the red, black, and green backpack that she had crocheted by hand. I just knew in my heart that he could never really love a woman who wrote about sex and sexuality and whose opinions on race and gender were so outside the norm, who loved wearing high heels occasionally, and who showed signs of insecurity and doubt openly. Luckily, I was wrong. He saw me as infinitely talented, grounded, inspired, and beautiful and he felt the pull of my African centered consciousness and saw my ability to free the descendents of slaves from our mental and psychological bondage with my words.

We vibrated on the same level in so many ways. While not identical in our every thought, we shared similar master numerological energies, spiritual outlooks, and interests. There was something very holistic and organic about what we shared and he was more than willing to nurture and heal my soul and that meant more to me than anything else. Our masculine and feminine energies complimented one another and we just seemed to fit like hand in glove.

For weeks, we grew together. Our days were filled toiling in the earth, growing vegetables, expanding our consciousness academically and culturally. We were always preparing food together as we were both dedicated to a living and raw diet and we even fasted together as well. He pushed me to trust him, to trust that he loved me, to see myself as the special and unique being he saw me as. I met each challenge he gave me head on, never afraid to push myself. Much of our time was spent in meditation or doing ritual. Sometimes we sat in silence, other times would laugh, talk, and listen to music until the early hours of the morning. I loved that he never made me feel like a victim or try to pity me because I was going blind. Charles would use his inspired words to paint pictures so I could see through his eyes and he helped me work out how to get around my apartment with my eyes closed for when the day would come when I had no sight at all. In every way imaginable, he was there for me like no other man had ever been there before and I found myself in falling in love with him in ways that were more profound than I had ever thought possible.

At times, our evenings were simmering, smoldering, and steamy, building a raging inferno of sexual tension between us. He seemed to know how to get me to the edge of explosion without any direct stimulation of my special places. He could whisper in my ear, telling me all the things he wanted to do to me, describing his fantasies about me in poetic, glorious detail and I would melt. He had the ability to lay his body on mine, I could feel his erection, engorged and rock hard grinding against me, and I could detect his unbridled passion, his intense desire to be inside me. His energy was strong and I would arch my back and wrap my legs around him as we kissed, hoping against hope that he would cross the threshold into my sacred space without my verbal consent. My hardened nipples would ache for his mouth to devour them and my swollen, wet pussy throbbed with anticipation and delicious expectation of his penetration. I’ll be the first to admit that when things would get hot and I was on the brink of erotic surrender, I would sometimes freeze up and ask him to stop. It had nothing to do with him. I was letting old tapes play in my head about being used, about men in my past who didn’t mind sexing me up but didn’t want a relationship with me. Charles wanted our lovemaking to be unfettered by fear or negativity; I didn’t want to have any emotional blocks between us. And we both wanted us to join in a union of transcendent, unparalleled ecstasy so we waited until the time was right.

Other times, the subject of sexuality never entered our evening experience. Sometimes, I could sense that I shouldn’t initiate anything romantic or sexual between us because he was at his very limit for frustration. I would hug him and he would give me a look letting me know that I needed to back off. On those nights, after we would part, I would lie in bed alone, pleasuring myself, wanting to call him to me and invite him to be my lover. When I showered, my fingers would find the slippery folds of my pussy and rub my clit and I would imagine him thrusting deeply inside me, completing me. I imagined him, at home alone, white cotton sheets covering his nude body, his erection tenting the covers, a sheen of perspiration covering his lean frame as he lay tortured, frustrated and aroused, thinking of me.

Our dance of frustration came to a screeching halt one night without much fanfare or preparation. We were fixing dinner one night and I was standing at the sink washing up a few dishes as he was moving around the kitchen doing his thing. I felt him slide up behind me, placing his arms on the counter beside me, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. He used his body to push me against the counter and I could feel the evidence of his erection against my backside. Instinctively, I pushed back, grinding the soft, full curves of my ass against him, leaning my body back and luxuriating in his hands caressing my waist and his nibbles to my earlobe. I could feel my temperature rising and my body was responding to his every touch.

As if by conditioning, when I could tell things were reaching their critical boiling point, I said, “Come on baby, stop. Let’s not get too carried away.” That did nothing to deter him however and he became even more assertive, sliding his hands over my breasts and making me elicit the most intense moans of pleasure. “Mmmm, king, that feels amazing.” I forgot all about my request to have him stop momentarily and I met his every thrust with equal passion. As the temperature began to rise, I renewed my objections, thinking he would be at his threshold and he would be packing up his stuff and heading for the door any minute.

Turning me around, facing him, using his body to press my body against the counter, Charles took my face in his hands. “Queen, I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you are in love with me.” I stood frozen. I heard the words fall softly from his lips like lyrics to a song. I diverted my eyes to the floor and he tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. He said it again and this time I held his gaze intently. “I am in love with you and you . . .”

“And I am in love with you,” I cut him off. I swallowed hard, half expecting the floor to open up and swallow me whole but deep in my heart knowing that, at last, I had found the love that I had been searching for all my life, for many lifetimes. “I . . . ,” the words momentarily got caught in my throat and found the strength to go on and speak my truth, fixing my gaze on his beautiful brown eyes for comfort, “I . . . need you. I want you to stay tonight. Join with me. Be my lover tonight. Enter me, taste me, and feel my . . .”

This time, he cut me off with a kiss. He placed his mouth gently against mine and tasted my lips. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was much more. It was his declaration of love. I breathed in his air and we became united in that instant. I kissed him, his tongue softly and gently conforming to mine in a soulful dance. My heart raced as I felt his lean body press more deeply into mine, feeling his engorged manhood against my mound. My breasts pressed against his chest and I started to unbutton his shirt, tracing my lips down his slightly salty neck, eliciting gentle moans from him.

Something about him, about what we shared comforted me and I released all my inhibitions and allowed myself to be sensual, erotic, passionate, and primal without reservation. He met me where I was and matched my passions equally. Our kisses become more fevered; his hands under my sarong and slid up the soft, inner flesh of my thighs, finding the moist juncture between my legs. I took his hand and held it firmly in my own. “Let’s go upstairs,” I whispered.

He led the way; I followed with complete trust. Inside my sanctuary, the lights off, he made his way around the room, lighting candles as I put on some music. We met in the middle of the room and embraced again. This was our night to join together in a holy, transcendent union. This was the quintessential union of man and woman, of masculine and feminine energies, of yin and yang. This was the universe revealing itself, creationism and evolution coming together in the ultimate expression.

He laid me on the bed and untied my sarong; he unbuttoned my blouse and slid it off my body. Pulling his locs up and securing them atop his head, he began to make a feast of my body. Slowly, methodically, he used his mouth to lick, suck, taste, and kiss every inch of my body. His lips gently explored the inside of my elbow and his tongue made sensual love to my belly button. As ticklish as I am, I couldn’t stop squirming and giggling. It made me more at ease; I was able to laugh and enjoy every delicious second of his seduction. Charles’ hands explored my curves and with each passing caress, with each tender stroke, I became more and more aroused. I responded to each touch with a moan, a guttural groan, and a heavy sigh. My skin tingled under the manipulations of his fingertips.

Just when I thought I was at the very limit of my arousal, when I thought I could take not one more millisecond of stimulation, Charles decided he was going to up the stakes. Standing, he removed his clothing and stood beautifully naked and erect before me. Without using words, he used his eyes alone to instruct me to spread my legs. I arched my back and did as I was “told” sliding my hands down my body, teasing him seductively. The candlelight bathed his silhouette beautifully, creating shadows and light on his golden skin. I was beyond aroused; each and every one of my senses was stimulated and heightened. My mouth watered staring at him; I wanted to explore his body with my mouth the way he had done with mine but Charles had other plans.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for this moment from the day we met. I need to feel you explode in my mouth. I want to give you pleasure untold and drink freely from your center.” I slid my finger between my engorged lips, brought my finger to my lips and seductively sucked it, tasting my slippery, sweet juices. He took his time, positioning himself so that he was comfortable between my legs. He wasn’t one to be rushed. At first, he just stared at me, taking in every detail of my sacred sex. He spread my lips and studied my clit and lips like a painter studies his subject. He inhaled deeply my fragrance, intoxicated by my personal aroma. Then, only after he had taken in every detail, memorized my every contour to memory, he closed his eyes and softly, gently, lowered his mouth to my flesh. I let out a sound that was otherworldly. Bliss consumed every pore in my body. He tasted, licked, sucked, and kissed me, building my passion, raising my energy up my chakras. I wrapped my legs around his head and grabbed a handful of locs. I was nearing the point of no return. My muscles tightened and my orgasm was eminent. Charles was a man on a mission. He used his fingers to penetrate my holes and his mouth to gently, rhythmically suck my clit. Unable to hold off any longer, I released my cum into his mouth. I shook and trembled with ecstasy but that was not he signal to stop. He wanted my orgasm to unfold against itself, to replicate like a strand of DNA.

Trembling and shaking, I felt intoxicated with pleasure. I was beyond wet; I had soaked the sheets with my juices. Taking his true place between my legs, he positioned himself to penetrate me for the very first time. I wanted to speak words in the moment but none came. Our communication was cellular. I felt him enter me and he took my breath away. I met each thrust and he maintained eye contact with me intensely. I could see concentration on his face but I could tell that he was experiencing intense pleasure as well. He stroked deep and hard, my juices coating him, our bodies sweating, moving in time. We made love, he made loved to me more intensely, more passionately than I’d ever experienced before in my life.

When he was on the verge of erupting, he flipped me over, he entered me from behind, filling the room with the sounds of our bodies colliding as he made love to me like a man on a mission. My orgasms outnumbered his at this point by about five or six to none and he wasn’t even close to finishing. I grabbed the sheets and met his every thrust. I think I might have passed out from pleasure, or at the very least, I was delirious with satisfaction. Four positions later, I was no longer able to keep track of my orgasms. Finally, he laid his body on mine and, almost imperceptibly, I felt his penis throbbing and pulsating within the warm, wet, velvety walls of my vagina. Our eyes held each other’s gaze, we kissed; we were connected body, mind, and soul. In that moment, I felt his body tense and he arched his back and buried himself deeply inside me. I joined with him, releasing my energy into him as I exploded in what was more than sexual ecstasy, it was spiritual bliss. We had made it to a new place in our relationship, and at last, I had released all the pain and negativity that had kept me from experiencing true and abiding love.

Copyright 2010 Scottie Lowe All Rights Reserved

Refuge

Afro Eroticism

The Thrill of Exposure

Tracy was the more adventurous partner in the couple. Eric wasn’t really conservative, he had a wild streak, but it was usually reserved for behind closed doors. It was she who took unnecessary chances and risked getting caught in situations that could be potentially very dangerous. It was the thrill that drove her to try new things in public, and unfortunately for Eric, he could only resist for so long until his hard dick told him otherwise.

Today was no exception. While going through the rather mundane chore of grocery shopping, a chore they usually did together to make it less of a burden for one person, Tracy started flirting and making sexy suggestions in Eric’s ear while picking out produce. “I bet you’d love to shove this huge, fat cucumber in my pussy, wouldn’t you babe?” Eric just shook his head and tried to tell her to be a little quieter; he didn’t want other people hearing her lewd comments.

While pretending to reach for a tomato, Tracy rubbed her hand against Eric’s pants, making sure to caress his dick a little longer than she should. “Will you stop that! Come on, it’s not funny. I don’t want to get thrown out of Publix. How embarrassing would that be?”

“I’m sorry baby, she said, sticking her tongue in his ear and acting like she didn’t have a care in the world. They were a few aisles away when Tracy took the opportunity to bend all the way over reach for something on the bottom shelf and Eric could CLEARLY see beneath her short skirt that not only was she not wearing panties, but that she had a butt plug in her ass and she had no shame in showing off to him.

“Jeez, Trace, what are you doing?” His words sounded outraged but his dick was harder than a rock. He grabbed her by the arm like a father does a child and they didn’t even finish getting the things on the list. He was tempted to leave the cart in the aisle and go home so he could fuck the living daylights out of her. Tracy convinced him that they should at least pay for the things they had already gotten because they were certainly going to need some nourishment later in the evening.

In the parking lot, putting the bags in the back of their SUV, Tracy took the opportunity to pull the back of her skirt up intentionally and spread the cheeks of her ass to make sure Eric got one last view of her toy. Paranoid, he looked around to make sure no one else was looking and pulled her skirt down and demanded that she get in the car. The windows weren’t tinted but he hoped they were high enough away from prying eyes to keep people from seeing him whip out his hard dick. Without a word being spoken, Tracy swallowed him whole. She pulled the zipper down on her top and freed her tits. Eric fondled them with one hand while his other hand kept a steady pressure on the back of her head. It wasn’t because Tracy was reluctant to suck him off, it was because he was so close to cumming he couldn’t have her stop. Tracy sucked and licked and swallowed like there was no tomorrow, driving her man crazy with their very public antics. Cum shot so hard from Eric’s dick that he thought he was going to choke his lover. Shot after shot erupted as he moaned out. Tracy took it all like a champ and licked her lips. It wasn’t until they were unpacking groceries at home that Eric noticed that Tracy had put that cucumber in the cart.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK