Working for an advertising agency has its advantages. At the drop of a hat, for barely any reason at all, there’s cause for an after work get together with free-flowing drinks for all. On this particular Friday evening, there was reason for celebration because Michael Shield’s company signed a major client and glasses were being raised all around Schmidt's Bistro. Michael was his usual self, in his element. He was an interesting fellow because while an outsider would think that Michael was a CEO or at least someone of importance, he was merely an accountant, a job considered mundane, boring, and non-integral to the advertising game. He raised his glass and made toasts; he laughed and patted backs like he had written the ad copy himself.
As the night wore on, Michael was becoming increasingly more intoxicated. He began to slur his words and he was insulting to the waitresses for no other reason than he thought he could be. He even slapped one young lady on the ass hard enough for it to be heard from across the room. Michael thought it was part of his charm; his male bravado entitled him to treat anyone he wanted like shit. In a word, he was an asshole. He wasn’t the most obnoxious asshole in the world; he was just a regular ole, intolerable asshole, exacerbated by the alcohol.
Everyone started thinning out, and the place was becoming empty. Michael was still in the mood for festivities and he was one of the last people to leave. He stumbled outside in the cool night air and couldn’t really remember where he had parked his car. The fact that he was totally unable to operate a motor vehicle had no meaning to him because if he got pulled over by the cops, surely they would let him slide. It was his right as a white man; his skin color gave him a get out of jail free card. By the time he found his car, he realized that he didn’t have his keys. Either they had fallen out or someone had been wise enough to take them in deference for the other drivers on the road.
Michael cursed and kicked the tire of his vehicle, hurting his foot in the process. He made plans to go back to the bar and try to find his keys but the call of nature was stronger. He had to piss like a racehorse and piss immediately. Rather than try to find a bathroom, or even a discrete place to urinate, Michael pulled out his stuff right there on the street and started whizzing away, on the front steps of a brownstone row house. As luck would have it, Michael ’s particularly bad luck in this case, the owners of said brownstone were returning from a night out on the town just as he was hosing down their front steps.
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Michael turned to see a young man, Black, about his age, of the same size and stature, angered but not irate, scolding him. Unable to control himself or his bladder, Michael continued to piss right on the young man’s shoes as he mumbled something vaguely reminiscent of an apology. The young lady who stood next to him didn’t say much; she seemed to be quite confident that her companion could take care of the situation. Michael noticed that they looked rather different, like they were punk rockers or something. Most Black people in he knew blended in, but the young woman, a pretty brown skinned woman with a bright pink Mohawk and piercings in her nose, eyebrow, and lip, was vastly different. She was dressed in a ripped t-shirt that had strategic safety pins to cover her small, braless breasts under a black, leather motorcycle jacket. Her jeans, equally as ripped, showed her smooth chocolate colored skin off even in the moonlit night. She wore black Doc Martens that had been spray-painted with red, black and green artwork.
There was something sexy and dangerous about this chick that didn’t escape Michael ’s notice and he openly and brazenly started pulling on his still pissing cock, his judgment clouded by the alcohol. The guy, now past his limit for tolerance, went to grab Michael ’s arm and he pulled away and defiantly said, “Fuck you.”
The punch that landed on Michael ’s jaw knocked him out cold, aided by the alcohol, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with his hands handcuffed behind him and he was secured to a chair in a strange room. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the couple sitting, casually watching him. His clothes reeked of urine and vomit, the air smelled of cloves and he felt considerably more sober. He began to protest rather loudly, demanding an explanation.
“I see you’re awake,” the young woman said with a clearly British accent. She put a filter-less cigarette to her lips between her thumb and forefinger and inhaled like a rebel with a cause; the light of the burning ash illuminated the contours of her ebony face. “I don’t know what sorta manners you have, and I don’t know what sorta bloke thinks it’s okay to use other people’s homes like a public loo, but you need to be taught a lesson. Don’t you agree Percy?” She turned to her male counterpart and he laughed casually as the young woman circled Michael like a panther.
“Unquestionably, Patra. Me thinks he needs to be taught a serious lesson about respect. G’won, teach him bout respect.” It was only then that Michael noticed that the male half of the couple was dressed in a similar fashion to the female but his accent seemed to be more Jamaican than British. Percy was about 6 feet tall; around 190 pounds if one were to guess, and he appeared to be the Black version of Sid Vicious only with outrageously long dreadlocks piled atop his head. He too wore black Doc Martens with the picture of a lion airbrushed on his left boot and a picture of Haile Selassie airbrushed on the other.
Patra whispered in Michael ’s ear, “You have been a very, very, bad boy and you are going to be punished, ya hear?” She grabbed his face, pushing his cheeks together and blowing smoke in his eyes. Michael tried to turn away but she held his face firmly in her grip.
WHAP! She slapped his face hard and the sting brought Michael to a new level of sobriety. He looked around the sparse room and noticed it was a basement, bathed only by the soft, fluorescent glow from the street lamps streaming in the small, street level windows. Even though he was scared, and rightfully so, there was also something erotic for Michael about being held against his will, punished for his wrongdoings, tormented by this odd, Black couple like a naughty schoolboy.
Percy seemed to enjoy sitting back and watching the show as Patra went about her business. She spit in Michael ’s face, pulled his hair, used his mouth as an ashtray, and for entertainment, burnt the backs of his hands with her cigarettes. Trying to remain defiant and strong, Michael felt his will slowly bending to hers. He became her puppet. She was ruthless, relentless in her punishment. Placing her boot against his crotch, she stomped his nuts without care for his well-being or health. Kicking the chair over, Michael struggled against his restraints. For a brief moment, he was released only to be secured again with his hands behind his back to a metal pole in the center of the room.
Being made to kneel on the cold, cement floor, the ordeal continued for Michael, who felt himself desperate for his release and willing to perform any duty, no matter how degrading, no matter how painful, so that he could please his captors and be let go. Patra placed her boot squarely on Michael ’s mouth and made him lick. The grime and the dirt were foul. He licked the heavily soiled treads while the pair laughed at him. She kicked him in the side of the head so hard he saw stars but he kept on licking. His cock was fully awake and aware of the fact that he was suffering and in pain. His arms were sore and aching, his knees were raw and nearly bloody as the night turned to day yet he was turned on by the humiliation, aroused by the pain. The couple didn’t seem to care that the hours passed. With each new hour they dreamt of a new torture that pushed Michael ’s body to new limits. Painful enemas, burning hot candle wax, dangerous breath play, and extreme cock and ball torture seemed to go on in an endless cycle. At one point, improvising with what was laying around, Patra found an extension cord and used it to beat Michael ’s face, chest, and body in a cruel show of pure sadism.
Percy couldn’t sit idly by and watch, he joined in the fun as Patra directed. Her arms were tired from beating him without mercy so she called on her lover to take over. What Michael thought was excruciating pain before was magnified 10 times when Percy began his lessons in respect. “You treat my home like a toilet, I’ll show you what a fucking toilet is . . . “ and he unzipped his jeans and pulled out a hefty cock, blacker than midnight and as thick as a beer can, and hosed Michael down. The piss was strong and forceful and Michael tried to turn his head but he was slapped and his head held in place, forced to drink the urine. The salt in the pee stung as it seeped into the open sores on the backs of his hands and in his eyes.
“Enough of this playing around,” Patra said, “make him your bitch, baby, show him who the real man is.” The pair seemed to silently acknowledge that the entire night’s antics, and the better part of the morning’s, were all leading to the grand finale when Michael would be forced to endure the ultimate humiliation.
Percy grabbed Michael ’s head and forced his semi-erect penis into his mouth. He tried to turn his head, he contemplated biting it but he was far too scared. There was no way he could fight, his arms were still tightly handcuffed behind him, and he was weak from exhaustion. He could hear Patra’s cruel laughter in the room, around him, unaware of exactly where she was. As Percy fucked his mouth, choking him, making him gag, forcing that black cock deep in his esophagus, Michael felt the rumblings of what was surely stale ale coming back up. He tried to hold it back but Percy showed no mercy and kept pounding away, using his mouth like a pussy. Vile smelling chunks of puke came up and big black cock forced it back down. Michael was trying to gasp for air but his airways were blocked with dick and vomit and cum.
“You fucking son of a bitch, look what you did!” Patra kicked him in the side and made him cry out. Quickly, she undid the restraints and repositioned him on his hands and knees. She took the belt from his khakis and pulled it free. She lowered his pants and bared his naked ass for her punishment.
Blow after painful blow reigned down on Michael ’s pale, flabby, white ass. He began sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over again. Each time the leather made contact with his skin, the pain reverberated up his spine. Welts formed, blood dripped. Just when he thought he could take no more, he heard Patra say, “Spit on it to get it wet first or else you won’t be able to get it in on the first thrust.”
Michael ’s heart dropped. He was completely virgin and terrified of what he knew was coming. He cried, begged, and pleaded. He tried to bargain and negotiate. He sobbed uncontrollably like a little bitch. “Please, please don’t do this. I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”
Patra and Percy would have no such talk. “Now look who’s the big man now. What happened to all that arrogance? You’re not so full of yourself now, are you? Well, you are going to get fucked and you are going to beg for it. In fact, you are going to plead to get fucked like the sissy faggot you are, do you hear me?”
Michael was broken. He didn’t even feel like a man anymore. He was a bad, bad boy who was suffering the ultimate abuse. There was something in him, something dark and perverted that wanted, no craved being taught this lesson. His manhood had been taken, his dignity and self-respect destroyed, and he was a mere shell of a man. With his eyes on the ground, he whispered a demure, “Please.”
“That’s not good enough,” she yelled, “beg for it like you need it. Prove that you want it.”
His arrogant taunt of “Fuck you,” that caused him to end up in this predicament turned into a chant of “Fuck me.” “Fuck me,” he cried out as he felt the enormous head of Percy’s cock against his asshole. “Fuck me,” he yelled as he felt the pain of his sphincter being ripped and inch after inch of black meat invading his anus. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he begged over and over again as he was pounded and used like a little rag doll. “Fuck me like I’m a dirty whore. Fuck me like I’m a little bitch. Fuck me harder. FUCK ME DAMN YOU! FUUUUCKK MEEEEE!”
Sometime that afternoon, hungry, thirsty, and smelling like the men’s room at a bus station, Michael stumbled out onto the street. His car had been ticketed and he still had no idea where his keys were. He was ashamed to call his wife and explain where he’d been all night but he knew she would be worried to death. He didn’t emerge a new man; he wasn’t somehow magically cured of being an asshole. He was, however, sore and tired, his nuts ached for relief, and he had been relieved of some of his white guilt that had brought about immense sexual satisfaction.
Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved
Showing posts with label force. Show all posts
Showing posts with label force. Show all posts
Monday, June 01, 2009
Monday, October 13, 2008
A Twist of Fate
It’s funny how, in an instant, one’s entire programming can be shifted. Given the right circumstances, everything that you’ve ever believed, everything that you’ve fought, feared, and resisted can be twisted and morphed into the thing you crave the most. Such was the case with Taja Crawford, who took a frightening journey that would leave her breathless, satisfied in ways she didn’t know existed, and craving much more.
It all started innocently enough, when Taja arrived home late one night from shopping. She dragged her bags through the front door and dropped them at her feet as she reached around to hit the light switch. She’d been out shopping as usual. It had become her hobby of late in an ongoing effort to make herself feel valuable and beautiful. As soon as the door closed behind her, she knew something was wrong. It was pitch black! She remembered pulling into the subdivision and none of the other houses were dark so she figured that there must be a blown fuse somewhere. Her husband had been working around the house for a few days so she thought that he might have accidentally knocked something out.
“Phillip, are you here?” She called out to her husband again and there was no answer. “It just figures that dumb ass wouldn’t be here to fix the mess he made,” she mumbled half under her breath and half aloud. Taja’s anger at her husband was typical, even if he hadn’t done anything specifically wrong; she was going to find a way to blame him for something. Philip was a model husband but Taja’s irrational standards were impossible to meet. She took pleasure in degrading him every chance she got and knowing full well that he would take it. She thought it was nothing less than an honor and a privilege for any man to be with her, that men had an obligation to take anything that she dished out and not say a word. The more she could degrade him, the better she would feel about herself.
Disoriented by the darkness Taja fumbled to find her purse to get her cell phone. Just her luck, the battery had died. That just made her angrier and curse Phillip more, even though he clearly had nothing to do with her phone. Luckily for her, she’d just purchased some brand new candles so all she had to do was let her eyes adjust for a second and find the lighter, which was right on top of the fireplace in the living room.
Before she even had a chance to get her bearings . . . the unimaginable happened. It was every woman’s worst nightmare and it was happening in her own home. She felt the hands, the pressure, the pain, the fear overcome her body in a split second. Taja was grabbed and immobilized, her arms pulled around behind her as she cried out, “Nooooooooo. STOP,” but her cries were muffled by a black leather gloved hand over her mouth. She was pushed against the front door and she felt the air being forced out of her lungs. She fought, struggling with her assailant, trying to resist him but she was quickly overpowered. Her mind was racing, she was praying, she was planning a strategy for escape all at the same time. She was in a panic. Her fear was soon displaced by rage as she hated this person for invading her home and was filled with the desire to exact revenge, even in her current helpless state. She fought with all her might but she was overpowered as her limbs began to fatigue. She was no match for her assailant.
In a matter of seconds, she had calmed down enough to know that she was going to have to use her wits to get out of this situation. With his hand still firmly against her mouth, she tried to get some image of what this person looked like. Could it be someone that she knew? Was it a total stranger? Fear coursed through every vein in her body as she imagined it was one of her cyber lovers. She’d spent many late nights cheating online, chatting with men in explicit sexual language in an attempt to add some spice to her life, to taunt Phillip and prove to him that she could have any man she wanted. She’d been careless, sharing exaggerated, intimate details about her life in order to make herself seem more affluent than she really was. Maybe one of those men had come to do unspeakable sexual acts on her. Tears were burning in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. The adrenaline pumping in her body was causing her to sweat and her legs felt like gelatin.
Her attacker leaned in close and whispered, “Shhhhhhh,” and Taja nodded very calmly to indicate that she understood. As soon as he removed his hand, something was stuffed in her mouth and then a handkerchief or scarf of some sort was tied in place. Her first reaction was to try to scream to get a gauge of how much sound she could make through the material but she held off. She didn’t know if this person had a gun or a knife and what his intentions were so she played it cool until she could devise a plan. He placed a silk blindfold over her eyes and she was struck by his gentle touch. She noticed how he gently lifted her hair to secure the blindfold and the soft lingering touches he gave to her face. She felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs being put on her wrists. She needed to know what he wanted to do so she would have to gain his confidence enough to let her speak so she played the part of a scared victim but she was actually using her skills as an actress to make him think that she was incapable of escape.
The strange attacker led Taja down the hall to the spare bedroom and closed the door and locked it behind them. Her heart dropped when she thought about what had happened to her husband. Phillip wasn’t just your average good guy; he was a great guy. He owned his own handyman repair business, not glamorous but it paid the bills. He bought Taja her dream house and he didn’t even complain when he had no say in picking out anything, nothing, not one single thing for the house. He bent over backwards to be nice to Taja’s meddling sisters and her mother. Phillip went to church every Sunday even when Taja felt like she had more important things to do, like shop. He cooked, he cleaned, he even volunteered with disadvantaged youth, he would never cheat and he worked hard to provide for his wife. His only flaw, to Taja, was not being edgy enough. She saw the good qualities in Phillip but she wanted flash, she wanted a bad boy. Certainly, Phillip would never allow anything to happen to her, she knew he loved her with all his heart. She pushed the horrendous thought out of her mind about how her husband and the intruder might have struggled and fought, Phillip losing only to a bullet or knife wound, fighting to protect his wife. She didn’t hate Phillip, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, she just wanted him not to take her shit all the time; she wanted to be the wife of someone dangerous. It really wasn’t his fault that he was average.
The adrenaline was pumping in Taja’s veins and she was acutely aware of everything going on around her. Whatever happened, whatever was to happen, Taja maintained her senses and waited for her opportunity to escape.
The spare bedroom wasn’t even a room that she and Phillip usually used. It was for guests when they came to spend the night; the only time it was ever really used was when Phillip slept there once in a while to keep from angering Taja with his presence. The stranger led Taja to the middle of the room, and in a split second, Taja’s arms were hoisted above her head and attached to some sort of cable that was secured to the ceiling. It was the most unbelievably painful and uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced. Taja was barely standing on her tiptoes and her arms were stretched to the point of excruciating pain. She was trying to balance herself and she felt herself flailing about like a rag doll. Her fight or flight instinct took over and she began crying uncontrollably. She felt her tears stream down her cheeks only to be absorbed by the handkerchief around her mouth. She tried to “feel” his presence in the room. He had moved back and was just listening to her muffled cries. She thought for a second that the end was near and everything would be over shortly. In her mind, she said her goodbyes and repented for her sins and waited for her untimely demise. What could have been seconds, what was probably minutes, but felt more like hours passed. The pain in her arms was unbearable; her legs ached from trying to relieve the pressure but her feet could barely reach the floor. Maybe he was going to leave her there to die, she thought; the victim of starvation, dehydration and torture.
Unexpectedly, he released the cable that suspended her from the floor and let her stand. Her arms were still above her head but the tension had been lessoned to the point where she could move them slightly. Taja was grateful to him for sparing her such pain and she realized that he had won one battle; he had made her appreciative of his small act of kindness.
He moved around in front of her and she could feel his body heat close to her. She felt his hands on her sides and run down to her full hips. He began caressing her breasts and sheer terror shot through her. Without notice, he ripped her blouse open, tearing it like it was nothing. Her breathing was heavy, knowing he was probably standing before her, aroused, but she was helpless to do anything about it. The telltale sign of the cold steel blade of a knife was pressed against her breasts as she froze. He cut away her bra and the remaining portions of her blouse until she stood topless. Having removed his gloves, he began caressing her neck, planting gentle, tender kisses on the nape of her neck and her collarbone. He licked gently, he kissed softly; from her ears to her shoulders and not missing a spot in between. His soft tongue licked up to her ear and he began blowing softly. His fingers stroked her flesh as he sucked the tender spot that always made Taja wet.
Rage coursed through Taja’s body. The unspeakable was about to happen. He was going to violate her, take from her something he had no right to take. For years, she had fantasized about being “raped”. Without regard for what the word actually meant, she fantasized that violent aggressive sex, that a man “taking” her, actually symbolized that she was more desirable than other women. The reality was vastly different.
Her mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the unadulterated fear coursing through her body and her arousal. She was searching for some way to make sense of the fact that while she was angered and scared she was actually enjoying this man kissing her sweet spot. He was making love to her neck with his mouth, licking and kissing and caressing her passionately. She shook her head to shake the thought that here she was, standing bare breasted and restrained by a total stranger, and on some level she was enjoying it. She was actually enjoying the sensation, it was giving her pleasure and it served to distract her from the pain in her arms that were still secured above her head and the anger of being assaulted. She was desperate to move her arms; her restraint was painful, both physically and psychologically.
In an act of kindness, her assailant unfastened the handkerchief around her face and removed the gag from her mouth. Taja immediately began pleading for her life, trying to talk rationally with the man. He didn’t say a word; he gently placed his fingers to her lips to indicate to her that he wanted her to be quiet. Taja froze, and bargained. “I’ll be quiet if you let my arms down a little, they hurt so badly. Please.”
He ignored her pleas as his fingertips began to gently trace her nipples, softly circling her breasts. Her erect nipples stood out from her body, proudly almost, betraying the fact that she actually enjoyed the stimulation. When he lowered his mouth to her tits, a small groan could be heard emanating from her throat. He filled his hands with her breasts and he held them to his mouth. Taja was outdone and began slightly thrusting back and forth, showing barely detectable signs of sexual arousal. She was enjoying his ministrations a little too much for her comfort. He began sucking a little harder and Taja bit her lip to keep from moaning. He started biting her nipples and it was as if it was sending shots of electricity directly to her clit. Her brain was misfiring, somehow causing her to experience the sensation as pleasure. She could feel moisture developing between her legs, the throb of arousal in her pussy. Taja was confused and determined to control her own desire. She was always in control and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep her pussy from getting wet.
Even the best laid plans need room for variables. As Taja was trying to control her arousal, and the man before her was licking, sucking and biting her hard nipples, she experienced a sensation that would send her mind and body reeling. Her arms were beginning to numb, a dull ache had set in, and she was almost able to tune out the pain when she was jolted by a pain that transformed her focus. Nipple clamps were applied to her aroused nipples as her captor began to pull a chain attached to them. He was toying with her, alternating between softly caressing her breasts and roughly pulling the chain that was attached to the clamps. Taja wasn’t able to hide her arousal, she was moaning in pleasure and in pain. He took what felt like to be a riding crop and began gently slapping her tits. Taja was undone; she felt every sting as pleasure.
Without notice, he stopped, causing Taja’s mind to spin out of control with questions. “What is he thinking, what is he planning, what was he doing?” As soon as he stopped the assault on her breasts, she was reminded of the pain in her arms, still suspended from the ceiling. Within seconds, the cable that held her arms in the air was released enough to let her arms fall completely. He massaged them for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to massage and lick her breasts as well. This time, without the gag, it was impossible for Taja to hide the fact that she was aroused; her moans were audible and guttural. Her arms were burning and sore and his massage felt delicious.
He pushed her to her knees and circled her like a lion stalking its prey. Still unable to see anything, there was no mistaking the sounds of his zipper being lowered. Taja waited, anxious to be thrown into the next phase of arousal and stimulation. She couldn’t deny to herself that she was experiencing pleasure in ways that she had never imagined possible. The restraint, the pain, the fact that it was a total stranger controlling her fate . . . all turned Taja on and she was craving more sensation. When it was all over, when she would tell the tale later, she would deny her arousal, now; she was going to bathe in the nasty and sensual feelings that had been awakened in her.
She felt the tip of his dick against her lips. He held it there, neither one of them making a move to initiate any action. Ever so detectably, he began rubbing it on her lips. The salty, semi-sweet precum that had formed on the head of his dick painted her lips and her first instinct was to lick the fluid away but she remained like a statue, not wanting to scare her captor or cause him to get antsy. He began to stroke his hard dick and she could hear him moaning. He put his thumb in her mouth and continued stroking his dick. Taja was confused. He could easily have shoved his dick in her mouth and there wasn’t much she could do about it. She swallowed the saliva that had collected in her mouth and realized that it simulated a sucking action. He groaned loudly.
He took his thumb out of her mouth and he grabbed a hand full of her hair. Taja let out a yelp and he pulled her hair even tighter in his grip. His breathing was getting more labored and he had now begun to push the head of his dick between her lips. For the first time, Taja wanted to please her home invader. She wanted him to be pleased with her oral skills, to consider her sexy and to want her. Being objectified was her drug of choice and she was high and addicted to the sensation.
The man with his dick in her mouth wasn’t interested in her thoughts and reflections, he was going to fuck her mouth and she wasn’t going to have much say in the matter. He pushed his dick in to her mouth and he stood perfectly still. Taja imagined that he was equally as afraid of losing an appendage as she was afraid of what he might do if she accidentally bit him. Taja wanted to control the action, she wanted to give him a blowjob the way she wanted to do it but that was not to be. He knew what he wanted and he communicated it to her without saying a word. He controlled the pace; he controlled the action. When he wanted her to lick, he pulled her head back, when he wanted her to suck, he shoved his dick in her mouth to the base. He grabbed the back of her head and used her mouth for his pleasure. She could feel every vein, every ridge against her tongue as he face-fucked her. She gagged and choked as he forced the head of his erection down her throat and it seemed to turn them both on.
Taja was enjoying the rough treatment. She was aroused by the way this man was using her and she was stimulated by the fact that he didn’t really let her control the action. She got into the blowjob and started trying to give him pleasure like she’d never done to anyone in the past. It was important for her self-esteem to think of herself as an object of desire and she got into sucking and licking like never before. It was the sloppiest, wettest, loudest blowjob she had ever given and even found herself moaning and enjoying it. It was as if she didn’t have to pretend to be reserved anymore, like she had been conditioned to be; she could be a wanton, sexual slut, and that thought sent chills up her normally judgmental and conservative spine. She rationalized that he was forcing her to behave in this whorish manner and she let go of whatever beliefs that told her she was being a bad girl, she wanted to be naughty and, dare she admit it, submissive.
She felt the head of his dick pounding her throat and she didn’t tense up, she went with the sensation. He got thicker and harder in her mouth as he fucked her mouth more. Taja’s hands were rubbing her pussy through her pants and her attacker was making noises like a wounded animal. He grabbed her by the throat and restricted her air. The rougher he treated her, the more moisture soaked her panties. She was being held captive by a man she didn’t know and she was more trusting of him than she had been with all of her previous lovers.
“Shit,” he cried out, the first word he had uttered all night, and he backed away.
Taja was dazed and caught off guard. In the frenzy of her arousal, she had almost forgotten that he was a real individual. Why had he stopped? Had she done something wrong? She hated herself for wanting him not to stop. Had he shot his load on and not wanted to do it in her mouth? Visions of his dick, shooting cum on the floor as he stood over her, stroking it, enraged her. “Damn you, you son of a bitch. Let me go, RIGHT NOW! You’ll be sorry for this.” She really wanted to beg for his cum in her mouth but she knew not to say another word. She was on fire and it was impossible to deny at that point. She began to plead with him again to let her go but in the back of her mind she wanted to experience just a little bit more erotic torture.
He pulled her to her feet and removed her pants. With painstaking slowness, he pulled them down over her full hips and tossed them to the side. Taja stood motionless, afraid to move, not sure of the reasons why. Her attacker led her to the bed and secured the handcuffs to the headboard. She was laying face down and he made her get on her knees. Taja was embarrassed to be so exposed, so vulnerable yet so aroused. Again, he left her there for a few minutes in silence and in darkness.
She felt the bed shift as he climbed on with her. His hands began caressing her back gently, massaging her sore arm muscles again. Everything he did, he did with such tenderness and care, and it was at that moment that she first thought that her attacker could actually be her husband.
“Phillip, is that you? Let me go. Stop this, this isn’t funny.”
If it was her husband, if it was Phillip, he would surely let her go, he knew she was really in control, he knew that whatever she said was the final word. That belief was shattered when she felt the sting of a sharp slap on her ass. The pain rattled her sense of reality and traveled up and down her spine. Phillip would never defy a direct order from her let alone be so aggressive. She began to panic again. Had she underestimated this perpetrator? Reality sunk in and she began to sob uncontrollably. “Please, please let me go,” she cried.
“Count,” he said.
While Taja was wondering what he intended for her to count, she felt the sharp sting of another blow on her ass. It took of few seconds for her brain to comprehend and she was able to eek out, “One,” not sure if that was the correct response or not, just going with her gut. He followed the slap to her ass with soft kisses to her disciplined flesh. His hands massaged her breasts, rubbed her clit and soothed her sexy round bottom. She felt decidedly masculine hands caress the tender flesh of her ass. His hands were kneading her body and gently stroking her thighs and back. His fingers separated her butt cheeks and he ran them lightly over her asshole. Taja froze in terror. The man responsible for her restraint then slid his fingers down to her soaking wet pussy and rubbed her swollen clit. Taja was pissed, embarrassed, and annoyed at herself for being aroused. She wanted and needed to regain control so she began talking again, trying to hide her true feelings, begging to be let go.
The next blow came without warning and she cried out “Owwwww,” as tears formed in her eyes. She remembered to say “Two,” and lay her head on the pillow as an act of exhaustion, both physical and mental. What followed was more caressing and more spanking, more fingering and more counting, more tender touches and searing pain combined. She felt his hands caressing the tender and heated flesh of her ass. The more he caressed, the wetter her pussy became. He would rub her sore nipples and spank her butt and thighs. It was torture; erotic, sensual, heavenly torture. Her head was reeling; it wasn’t supposed to feel pleasurable. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. The stinging was registering in her brain as bliss and she was tormented by the fact that each slap was followed by him gently rubbing her clit to near orgasm. She began to look forward to each slap, to him bringing her closer and closer to fierce explosion every time. By the time she got to twenty, she was experiencing each slap as pleasure, each sting was ecstasy. Her pussy was dripping and her clit was throbbing and she was desperate to cum.
Without warning, she felt the softness of a tongue licking her soaking wet pussy. “Noooo, she cried out, not sure why she was saying it; she truly didn’t want him to stop. She was trying to stop him from having more control over her and the fact that he was teasing her with such expertise. She was pulling against her restraints, and trying to fight her own orgasm as he licked her from front to back.
There was no stopping him; he was going to make her cum and cum hard. She fought it with her mind but her body was betraying her intentions. She had been so aroused for so long, she was at the brink of sensual release. Ecstasy washed over her body and his lips gently sucked her clit as his tongue fucked her hole. He lapped and licked, nibbled and sucked and made her grind her pussy on his face. She moaned in the pillow and begged him not to stop.
She felt the head of his dick rubbing her pussy. She was beyond the point of rational thought. Like a light switch going off in her head, she realized that the life of control and rules she had lived by were mere illusions. She wanted to be fucked, fucked good, fucked hard, and fucked long. She needed to be fucked. She heard the words coming out of her mouth but they sounded like they were coming from someone else. They sounded like they were coming from a wounded animal. “Fuuuuuck meeeee pleeeeease.”
Time froze. In an instant, the handcuffs were released and a small nightlight was turned on. She could tell her captor got off the bed and stood back, waiting for her to make a move. She kept her head in the pillow with her ass in the air, not moving an inch. She knew she should get up and run but she couldn’t. She wanted to turn around and see the face of her captor. She remained frozen. She said it again, this time aware that she could no longer claim to being forced to do anything. “Fuck me.”
The ringing in her ears and the desperation in her wet pussy drove her to say the words that she wouldn’t have thought possible two hours earlier. She felt the head rub from her clit to her asshole and she arched backwards, trying to get him to penetrate her. She was desperate to feel that sensation of him hitting bottom deep inside her. She needed to feel full with his hardness, the ecstasy that a woman can only feel when a big hard dick is filling her, stretching her, pounding her. It was a strange twist of fate that had her craving the very sensation that she had fought all her life to deny. She wanted to be submissive, to let go of all the stereotypes and standards that told her that she had to be a strong black woman that didn’t put up with anything, that called all the shots. She realized that her freedom was in letting go, was in letting someone else have the reins of control and it had nothing to do with her being weak, it was simply a shift in power. She was tired of pretending that she had to be everything to everyone, she was tired of needing to feel like a bitch. In that moment she wanted to surrender to sensations that she had no control over and she craved that release.
“Say it again,” he said again calmly.
In a surreal declaration, she said the words that released her from her invisible bonds. “Now! Please! Fuck me!”
With those words, he took the head of his dick and placed it at the head of her asshole. Anal sex was something she’d done before but it had been a long time ago, with boyfriends that insisted she had to do it to prove that she loved them. It’d been many years since she even thought about doing it and fear paralyzed her body. She wasn’t even sure she could take it. There was no doubt in her mind that it was going to hurt. Why then, was her body screaming out for this stranger to do it? She wanted to feel like she was giving him the ultimate symbol of her submission to him.
Exquisitely slow and with exhausting skill, her captor managed to get the head inserted with no pain at all. Taja was sweating and her musky scent was reminiscent of a wild animal but it was sexy and primal. The fact that just the head of his dick was inside her was driving her out of her mind. She started pushing back and driving more meat inside her backdoor. The sensation of being filled like that was causing her to grunt and moan. It was as if she couldn’t breath and every millimeter shoved inside her felt like miles of orgasmic pleasure. Teeth marks were embedded in the pillowcase and her hands gripped the sheets tightly. Through it all, he wouldn’t move and inch; he let her control the penetration. It was only when she reached between her legs to rub her clit that she realized that he was completely buried inside her. She’d past her threshold of pleasure and it was time for some fast and furious fucking.
Taja had to grab the headboard to keep her head from being rammed. In an instant, he was fucking her senseless. She pushed back; he pumped harder. Every inch of his dick was driven deep inside her and she adored the sensation. Rockets went off inside her head and she was outside herself. Taja was now another person, another woman who had no fears, no inhibitions. She needed to get fucked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it all night long. He grabbed her hips; she rubbed her clit. He was moaning, she was groaning. She came without him missing a beat and he kept fucking her through her orgasm. Sweat formed on both of them and they grunted and groaned like wild animals. They fucked into the night until Taja passed out from pleasure and exhaustion.
The morning came and sunlight filtered through the blinds. Taja awoke, her arms and legs and ass were sore. The smells of eggs and coffee were coming up the stairs. Phillip entered the room and held out her robe. “Breakfast is ready.”
She stood on shaky feet, still weak from the incredible fuck she had gotten and the restraint her body had endured. “We need to talk . . ." Her words were cut off with the familiar finger that has silenced her the night before.
Phillip had no words to explain his behavior or his actions. He, too, had been struggling with his perceived role as doormat versus being a “man” and he had devised this plan to show his wife who was the boss. While he had done it for her he had come to some personal revelations of his own. If being the boss meant that he had to be someone that was unnatural to him, he wanted no parts of that. He stood his ground as he waited for her verbal assault, quite sure she was going to go back to full bitch mode.
Never having had a previous occasion to be humble, Taja was rendered speechless. Her journey to self-discovery started with a paralyzing fear and ended with a frightening revelation. She let Phillip help her on with her robe. She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her. She’d lost a piece of herself and found it in losing control. There was no turning back, only relinquishing old beliefs in a strange twist of fate.
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK
It all started innocently enough, when Taja arrived home late one night from shopping. She dragged her bags through the front door and dropped them at her feet as she reached around to hit the light switch. She’d been out shopping as usual. It had become her hobby of late in an ongoing effort to make herself feel valuable and beautiful. As soon as the door closed behind her, she knew something was wrong. It was pitch black! She remembered pulling into the subdivision and none of the other houses were dark so she figured that there must be a blown fuse somewhere. Her husband had been working around the house for a few days so she thought that he might have accidentally knocked something out.
“Phillip, are you here?” She called out to her husband again and there was no answer. “It just figures that dumb ass wouldn’t be here to fix the mess he made,” she mumbled half under her breath and half aloud. Taja’s anger at her husband was typical, even if he hadn’t done anything specifically wrong; she was going to find a way to blame him for something. Philip was a model husband but Taja’s irrational standards were impossible to meet. She took pleasure in degrading him every chance she got and knowing full well that he would take it. She thought it was nothing less than an honor and a privilege for any man to be with her, that men had an obligation to take anything that she dished out and not say a word. The more she could degrade him, the better she would feel about herself.
Disoriented by the darkness Taja fumbled to find her purse to get her cell phone. Just her luck, the battery had died. That just made her angrier and curse Phillip more, even though he clearly had nothing to do with her phone. Luckily for her, she’d just purchased some brand new candles so all she had to do was let her eyes adjust for a second and find the lighter, which was right on top of the fireplace in the living room.
Before she even had a chance to get her bearings . . . the unimaginable happened. It was every woman’s worst nightmare and it was happening in her own home. She felt the hands, the pressure, the pain, the fear overcome her body in a split second. Taja was grabbed and immobilized, her arms pulled around behind her as she cried out, “Nooooooooo. STOP,” but her cries were muffled by a black leather gloved hand over her mouth. She was pushed against the front door and she felt the air being forced out of her lungs. She fought, struggling with her assailant, trying to resist him but she was quickly overpowered. Her mind was racing, she was praying, she was planning a strategy for escape all at the same time. She was in a panic. Her fear was soon displaced by rage as she hated this person for invading her home and was filled with the desire to exact revenge, even in her current helpless state. She fought with all her might but she was overpowered as her limbs began to fatigue. She was no match for her assailant.
In a matter of seconds, she had calmed down enough to know that she was going to have to use her wits to get out of this situation. With his hand still firmly against her mouth, she tried to get some image of what this person looked like. Could it be someone that she knew? Was it a total stranger? Fear coursed through every vein in her body as she imagined it was one of her cyber lovers. She’d spent many late nights cheating online, chatting with men in explicit sexual language in an attempt to add some spice to her life, to taunt Phillip and prove to him that she could have any man she wanted. She’d been careless, sharing exaggerated, intimate details about her life in order to make herself seem more affluent than she really was. Maybe one of those men had come to do unspeakable sexual acts on her. Tears were burning in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. The adrenaline pumping in her body was causing her to sweat and her legs felt like gelatin.
Her attacker leaned in close and whispered, “Shhhhhhh,” and Taja nodded very calmly to indicate that she understood. As soon as he removed his hand, something was stuffed in her mouth and then a handkerchief or scarf of some sort was tied in place. Her first reaction was to try to scream to get a gauge of how much sound she could make through the material but she held off. She didn’t know if this person had a gun or a knife and what his intentions were so she played it cool until she could devise a plan. He placed a silk blindfold over her eyes and she was struck by his gentle touch. She noticed how he gently lifted her hair to secure the blindfold and the soft lingering touches he gave to her face. She felt the cold metal of a pair of handcuffs being put on her wrists. She needed to know what he wanted to do so she would have to gain his confidence enough to let her speak so she played the part of a scared victim but she was actually using her skills as an actress to make him think that she was incapable of escape.
The strange attacker led Taja down the hall to the spare bedroom and closed the door and locked it behind them. Her heart dropped when she thought about what had happened to her husband. Phillip wasn’t just your average good guy; he was a great guy. He owned his own handyman repair business, not glamorous but it paid the bills. He bought Taja her dream house and he didn’t even complain when he had no say in picking out anything, nothing, not one single thing for the house. He bent over backwards to be nice to Taja’s meddling sisters and her mother. Phillip went to church every Sunday even when Taja felt like she had more important things to do, like shop. He cooked, he cleaned, he even volunteered with disadvantaged youth, he would never cheat and he worked hard to provide for his wife. His only flaw, to Taja, was not being edgy enough. She saw the good qualities in Phillip but she wanted flash, she wanted a bad boy. Certainly, Phillip would never allow anything to happen to her, she knew he loved her with all his heart. She pushed the horrendous thought out of her mind about how her husband and the intruder might have struggled and fought, Phillip losing only to a bullet or knife wound, fighting to protect his wife. She didn’t hate Phillip, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, she just wanted him not to take her shit all the time; she wanted to be the wife of someone dangerous. It really wasn’t his fault that he was average.
The adrenaline was pumping in Taja’s veins and she was acutely aware of everything going on around her. Whatever happened, whatever was to happen, Taja maintained her senses and waited for her opportunity to escape.
The spare bedroom wasn’t even a room that she and Phillip usually used. It was for guests when they came to spend the night; the only time it was ever really used was when Phillip slept there once in a while to keep from angering Taja with his presence. The stranger led Taja to the middle of the room, and in a split second, Taja’s arms were hoisted above her head and attached to some sort of cable that was secured to the ceiling. It was the most unbelievably painful and uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced. Taja was barely standing on her tiptoes and her arms were stretched to the point of excruciating pain. She was trying to balance herself and she felt herself flailing about like a rag doll. Her fight or flight instinct took over and she began crying uncontrollably. She felt her tears stream down her cheeks only to be absorbed by the handkerchief around her mouth. She tried to “feel” his presence in the room. He had moved back and was just listening to her muffled cries. She thought for a second that the end was near and everything would be over shortly. In her mind, she said her goodbyes and repented for her sins and waited for her untimely demise. What could have been seconds, what was probably minutes, but felt more like hours passed. The pain in her arms was unbearable; her legs ached from trying to relieve the pressure but her feet could barely reach the floor. Maybe he was going to leave her there to die, she thought; the victim of starvation, dehydration and torture.
Unexpectedly, he released the cable that suspended her from the floor and let her stand. Her arms were still above her head but the tension had been lessoned to the point where she could move them slightly. Taja was grateful to him for sparing her such pain and she realized that he had won one battle; he had made her appreciative of his small act of kindness.
He moved around in front of her and she could feel his body heat close to her. She felt his hands on her sides and run down to her full hips. He began caressing her breasts and sheer terror shot through her. Without notice, he ripped her blouse open, tearing it like it was nothing. Her breathing was heavy, knowing he was probably standing before her, aroused, but she was helpless to do anything about it. The telltale sign of the cold steel blade of a knife was pressed against her breasts as she froze. He cut away her bra and the remaining portions of her blouse until she stood topless. Having removed his gloves, he began caressing her neck, planting gentle, tender kisses on the nape of her neck and her collarbone. He licked gently, he kissed softly; from her ears to her shoulders and not missing a spot in between. His soft tongue licked up to her ear and he began blowing softly. His fingers stroked her flesh as he sucked the tender spot that always made Taja wet.
Rage coursed through Taja’s body. The unspeakable was about to happen. He was going to violate her, take from her something he had no right to take. For years, she had fantasized about being “raped”. Without regard for what the word actually meant, she fantasized that violent aggressive sex, that a man “taking” her, actually symbolized that she was more desirable than other women. The reality was vastly different.
Her mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the unadulterated fear coursing through her body and her arousal. She was searching for some way to make sense of the fact that while she was angered and scared she was actually enjoying this man kissing her sweet spot. He was making love to her neck with his mouth, licking and kissing and caressing her passionately. She shook her head to shake the thought that here she was, standing bare breasted and restrained by a total stranger, and on some level she was enjoying it. She was actually enjoying the sensation, it was giving her pleasure and it served to distract her from the pain in her arms that were still secured above her head and the anger of being assaulted. She was desperate to move her arms; her restraint was painful, both physically and psychologically.
In an act of kindness, her assailant unfastened the handkerchief around her face and removed the gag from her mouth. Taja immediately began pleading for her life, trying to talk rationally with the man. He didn’t say a word; he gently placed his fingers to her lips to indicate to her that he wanted her to be quiet. Taja froze, and bargained. “I’ll be quiet if you let my arms down a little, they hurt so badly. Please.”
He ignored her pleas as his fingertips began to gently trace her nipples, softly circling her breasts. Her erect nipples stood out from her body, proudly almost, betraying the fact that she actually enjoyed the stimulation. When he lowered his mouth to her tits, a small groan could be heard emanating from her throat. He filled his hands with her breasts and he held them to his mouth. Taja was outdone and began slightly thrusting back and forth, showing barely detectable signs of sexual arousal. She was enjoying his ministrations a little too much for her comfort. He began sucking a little harder and Taja bit her lip to keep from moaning. He started biting her nipples and it was as if it was sending shots of electricity directly to her clit. Her brain was misfiring, somehow causing her to experience the sensation as pleasure. She could feel moisture developing between her legs, the throb of arousal in her pussy. Taja was confused and determined to control her own desire. She was always in control and she was going to do whatever she had to do to keep her pussy from getting wet.
Even the best laid plans need room for variables. As Taja was trying to control her arousal, and the man before her was licking, sucking and biting her hard nipples, she experienced a sensation that would send her mind and body reeling. Her arms were beginning to numb, a dull ache had set in, and she was almost able to tune out the pain when she was jolted by a pain that transformed her focus. Nipple clamps were applied to her aroused nipples as her captor began to pull a chain attached to them. He was toying with her, alternating between softly caressing her breasts and roughly pulling the chain that was attached to the clamps. Taja wasn’t able to hide her arousal, she was moaning in pleasure and in pain. He took what felt like to be a riding crop and began gently slapping her tits. Taja was undone; she felt every sting as pleasure.
Without notice, he stopped, causing Taja’s mind to spin out of control with questions. “What is he thinking, what is he planning, what was he doing?” As soon as he stopped the assault on her breasts, she was reminded of the pain in her arms, still suspended from the ceiling. Within seconds, the cable that held her arms in the air was released enough to let her arms fall completely. He massaged them for a few minutes, taking the opportunity to massage and lick her breasts as well. This time, without the gag, it was impossible for Taja to hide the fact that she was aroused; her moans were audible and guttural. Her arms were burning and sore and his massage felt delicious.
He pushed her to her knees and circled her like a lion stalking its prey. Still unable to see anything, there was no mistaking the sounds of his zipper being lowered. Taja waited, anxious to be thrown into the next phase of arousal and stimulation. She couldn’t deny to herself that she was experiencing pleasure in ways that she had never imagined possible. The restraint, the pain, the fact that it was a total stranger controlling her fate . . . all turned Taja on and she was craving more sensation. When it was all over, when she would tell the tale later, she would deny her arousal, now; she was going to bathe in the nasty and sensual feelings that had been awakened in her.
She felt the tip of his dick against her lips. He held it there, neither one of them making a move to initiate any action. Ever so detectably, he began rubbing it on her lips. The salty, semi-sweet precum that had formed on the head of his dick painted her lips and her first instinct was to lick the fluid away but she remained like a statue, not wanting to scare her captor or cause him to get antsy. He began to stroke his hard dick and she could hear him moaning. He put his thumb in her mouth and continued stroking his dick. Taja was confused. He could easily have shoved his dick in her mouth and there wasn’t much she could do about it. She swallowed the saliva that had collected in her mouth and realized that it simulated a sucking action. He groaned loudly.
He took his thumb out of her mouth and he grabbed a hand full of her hair. Taja let out a yelp and he pulled her hair even tighter in his grip. His breathing was getting more labored and he had now begun to push the head of his dick between her lips. For the first time, Taja wanted to please her home invader. She wanted him to be pleased with her oral skills, to consider her sexy and to want her. Being objectified was her drug of choice and she was high and addicted to the sensation.
The man with his dick in her mouth wasn’t interested in her thoughts and reflections, he was going to fuck her mouth and she wasn’t going to have much say in the matter. He pushed his dick in to her mouth and he stood perfectly still. Taja imagined that he was equally as afraid of losing an appendage as she was afraid of what he might do if she accidentally bit him. Taja wanted to control the action, she wanted to give him a blowjob the way she wanted to do it but that was not to be. He knew what he wanted and he communicated it to her without saying a word. He controlled the pace; he controlled the action. When he wanted her to lick, he pulled her head back, when he wanted her to suck, he shoved his dick in her mouth to the base. He grabbed the back of her head and used her mouth for his pleasure. She could feel every vein, every ridge against her tongue as he face-fucked her. She gagged and choked as he forced the head of his erection down her throat and it seemed to turn them both on.
Taja was enjoying the rough treatment. She was aroused by the way this man was using her and she was stimulated by the fact that he didn’t really let her control the action. She got into the blowjob and started trying to give him pleasure like she’d never done to anyone in the past. It was important for her self-esteem to think of herself as an object of desire and she got into sucking and licking like never before. It was the sloppiest, wettest, loudest blowjob she had ever given and even found herself moaning and enjoying it. It was as if she didn’t have to pretend to be reserved anymore, like she had been conditioned to be; she could be a wanton, sexual slut, and that thought sent chills up her normally judgmental and conservative spine. She rationalized that he was forcing her to behave in this whorish manner and she let go of whatever beliefs that told her she was being a bad girl, she wanted to be naughty and, dare she admit it, submissive.
She felt the head of his dick pounding her throat and she didn’t tense up, she went with the sensation. He got thicker and harder in her mouth as he fucked her mouth more. Taja’s hands were rubbing her pussy through her pants and her attacker was making noises like a wounded animal. He grabbed her by the throat and restricted her air. The rougher he treated her, the more moisture soaked her panties. She was being held captive by a man she didn’t know and she was more trusting of him than she had been with all of her previous lovers.
“Shit,” he cried out, the first word he had uttered all night, and he backed away.
Taja was dazed and caught off guard. In the frenzy of her arousal, she had almost forgotten that he was a real individual. Why had he stopped? Had she done something wrong? She hated herself for wanting him not to stop. Had he shot his load on and not wanted to do it in her mouth? Visions of his dick, shooting cum on the floor as he stood over her, stroking it, enraged her. “Damn you, you son of a bitch. Let me go, RIGHT NOW! You’ll be sorry for this.” She really wanted to beg for his cum in her mouth but she knew not to say another word. She was on fire and it was impossible to deny at that point. She began to plead with him again to let her go but in the back of her mind she wanted to experience just a little bit more erotic torture.
He pulled her to her feet and removed her pants. With painstaking slowness, he pulled them down over her full hips and tossed them to the side. Taja stood motionless, afraid to move, not sure of the reasons why. Her attacker led her to the bed and secured the handcuffs to the headboard. She was laying face down and he made her get on her knees. Taja was embarrassed to be so exposed, so vulnerable yet so aroused. Again, he left her there for a few minutes in silence and in darkness.
She felt the bed shift as he climbed on with her. His hands began caressing her back gently, massaging her sore arm muscles again. Everything he did, he did with such tenderness and care, and it was at that moment that she first thought that her attacker could actually be her husband.
“Phillip, is that you? Let me go. Stop this, this isn’t funny.”
If it was her husband, if it was Phillip, he would surely let her go, he knew she was really in control, he knew that whatever she said was the final word. That belief was shattered when she felt the sting of a sharp slap on her ass. The pain rattled her sense of reality and traveled up and down her spine. Phillip would never defy a direct order from her let alone be so aggressive. She began to panic again. Had she underestimated this perpetrator? Reality sunk in and she began to sob uncontrollably. “Please, please let me go,” she cried.
“Count,” he said.
While Taja was wondering what he intended for her to count, she felt the sharp sting of another blow on her ass. It took of few seconds for her brain to comprehend and she was able to eek out, “One,” not sure if that was the correct response or not, just going with her gut. He followed the slap to her ass with soft kisses to her disciplined flesh. His hands massaged her breasts, rubbed her clit and soothed her sexy round bottom. She felt decidedly masculine hands caress the tender flesh of her ass. His hands were kneading her body and gently stroking her thighs and back. His fingers separated her butt cheeks and he ran them lightly over her asshole. Taja froze in terror. The man responsible for her restraint then slid his fingers down to her soaking wet pussy and rubbed her swollen clit. Taja was pissed, embarrassed, and annoyed at herself for being aroused. She wanted and needed to regain control so she began talking again, trying to hide her true feelings, begging to be let go.
The next blow came without warning and she cried out “Owwwww,” as tears formed in her eyes. She remembered to say “Two,” and lay her head on the pillow as an act of exhaustion, both physical and mental. What followed was more caressing and more spanking, more fingering and more counting, more tender touches and searing pain combined. She felt his hands caressing the tender and heated flesh of her ass. The more he caressed, the wetter her pussy became. He would rub her sore nipples and spank her butt and thighs. It was torture; erotic, sensual, heavenly torture. Her head was reeling; it wasn’t supposed to feel pleasurable. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. The stinging was registering in her brain as bliss and she was tormented by the fact that each slap was followed by him gently rubbing her clit to near orgasm. She began to look forward to each slap, to him bringing her closer and closer to fierce explosion every time. By the time she got to twenty, she was experiencing each slap as pleasure, each sting was ecstasy. Her pussy was dripping and her clit was throbbing and she was desperate to cum.
Without warning, she felt the softness of a tongue licking her soaking wet pussy. “Noooo, she cried out, not sure why she was saying it; she truly didn’t want him to stop. She was trying to stop him from having more control over her and the fact that he was teasing her with such expertise. She was pulling against her restraints, and trying to fight her own orgasm as he licked her from front to back.
There was no stopping him; he was going to make her cum and cum hard. She fought it with her mind but her body was betraying her intentions. She had been so aroused for so long, she was at the brink of sensual release. Ecstasy washed over her body and his lips gently sucked her clit as his tongue fucked her hole. He lapped and licked, nibbled and sucked and made her grind her pussy on his face. She moaned in the pillow and begged him not to stop.
She felt the head of his dick rubbing her pussy. She was beyond the point of rational thought. Like a light switch going off in her head, she realized that the life of control and rules she had lived by were mere illusions. She wanted to be fucked, fucked good, fucked hard, and fucked long. She needed to be fucked. She heard the words coming out of her mouth but they sounded like they were coming from someone else. They sounded like they were coming from a wounded animal. “Fuuuuuck meeeee pleeeeease.”
Time froze. In an instant, the handcuffs were released and a small nightlight was turned on. She could tell her captor got off the bed and stood back, waiting for her to make a move. She kept her head in the pillow with her ass in the air, not moving an inch. She knew she should get up and run but she couldn’t. She wanted to turn around and see the face of her captor. She remained frozen. She said it again, this time aware that she could no longer claim to being forced to do anything. “Fuck me.”
The ringing in her ears and the desperation in her wet pussy drove her to say the words that she wouldn’t have thought possible two hours earlier. She felt the head rub from her clit to her asshole and she arched backwards, trying to get him to penetrate her. She was desperate to feel that sensation of him hitting bottom deep inside her. She needed to feel full with his hardness, the ecstasy that a woman can only feel when a big hard dick is filling her, stretching her, pounding her. It was a strange twist of fate that had her craving the very sensation that she had fought all her life to deny. She wanted to be submissive, to let go of all the stereotypes and standards that told her that she had to be a strong black woman that didn’t put up with anything, that called all the shots. She realized that her freedom was in letting go, was in letting someone else have the reins of control and it had nothing to do with her being weak, it was simply a shift in power. She was tired of pretending that she had to be everything to everyone, she was tired of needing to feel like a bitch. In that moment she wanted to surrender to sensations that she had no control over and she craved that release.
“Say it again,” he said again calmly.
In a surreal declaration, she said the words that released her from her invisible bonds. “Now! Please! Fuck me!”
With those words, he took the head of his dick and placed it at the head of her asshole. Anal sex was something she’d done before but it had been a long time ago, with boyfriends that insisted she had to do it to prove that she loved them. It’d been many years since she even thought about doing it and fear paralyzed her body. She wasn’t even sure she could take it. There was no doubt in her mind that it was going to hurt. Why then, was her body screaming out for this stranger to do it? She wanted to feel like she was giving him the ultimate symbol of her submission to him.
Exquisitely slow and with exhausting skill, her captor managed to get the head inserted with no pain at all. Taja was sweating and her musky scent was reminiscent of a wild animal but it was sexy and primal. The fact that just the head of his dick was inside her was driving her out of her mind. She started pushing back and driving more meat inside her backdoor. The sensation of being filled like that was causing her to grunt and moan. It was as if she couldn’t breath and every millimeter shoved inside her felt like miles of orgasmic pleasure. Teeth marks were embedded in the pillowcase and her hands gripped the sheets tightly. Through it all, he wouldn’t move and inch; he let her control the penetration. It was only when she reached between her legs to rub her clit that she realized that he was completely buried inside her. She’d past her threshold of pleasure and it was time for some fast and furious fucking.
Taja had to grab the headboard to keep her head from being rammed. In an instant, he was fucking her senseless. She pushed back; he pumped harder. Every inch of his dick was driven deep inside her and she adored the sensation. Rockets went off inside her head and she was outside herself. Taja was now another person, another woman who had no fears, no inhibitions. She needed to get fucked and she wasn’t afraid to ask for it all night long. He grabbed her hips; she rubbed her clit. He was moaning, she was groaning. She came without him missing a beat and he kept fucking her through her orgasm. Sweat formed on both of them and they grunted and groaned like wild animals. They fucked into the night until Taja passed out from pleasure and exhaustion.
The morning came and sunlight filtered through the blinds. Taja awoke, her arms and legs and ass were sore. The smells of eggs and coffee were coming up the stairs. Phillip entered the room and held out her robe. “Breakfast is ready.”
She stood on shaky feet, still weak from the incredible fuck she had gotten and the restraint her body had endured. “We need to talk . . ." Her words were cut off with the familiar finger that has silenced her the night before.
Phillip had no words to explain his behavior or his actions. He, too, had been struggling with his perceived role as doormat versus being a “man” and he had devised this plan to show his wife who was the boss. While he had done it for her he had come to some personal revelations of his own. If being the boss meant that he had to be someone that was unnatural to him, he wanted no parts of that. He stood his ground as he waited for her verbal assault, quite sure she was going to go back to full bitch mode.
Never having had a previous occasion to be humble, Taja was rendered speechless. Her journey to self-discovery started with a paralyzing fear and ended with a frightening revelation. She let Phillip help her on with her robe. She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her. She’d lost a piece of herself and found it in losing control. There was no turning back, only relinquishing old beliefs in a strange twist of fate.
Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK
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
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