AfroerotiK

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

Showing posts with label interracial submission. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interracial submission. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Broken John





The feel of the cool cement floor against his face allowed John Anderson to be revived momentarily.  Drool pooled beneath his cheek, seeping uncontrollably from the corner of his mouth.  A single, uncovered red light bulb hung precariously from an extension cord that had been duct-taped to the ceiling in the middle of the basement, providing the only source of illumination in the make-shift dungeon that had been his coven for the past three days.  He was still disoriented from the pain, pain that permeated every cell, muscle, and sinew in his body.  With his arms still securely tied behind his back, it was actually the pain of hunger that roused him from his unconscious state. 

Tempted to call out, to ask for help, to request nourishment, John knew better than to do anything that might stir the wrath of his Mistress.  His throat was sore, his voice weak from having his mouth savagely fucked by both dildos and cocks, all relentless in their efforts to leave his throat and jaw aching.  Load after load of hot cum had been deposited inside him from both ends.  Salvation came in the form of the click of his Mistress’ heels against the exposed floor.  John was too weak to lift his head to greet her properly.  He was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from his experience.  Oddly enough, even after days of humiliation, perversion, and inexorable punishment masterminded by this brutal woman, he felt satisfied.  He was content, blissful in fact that he had finally found the mentally sadistic Black bitch of his dreams, the one individual who divested him of his arrogance, his false sense of superiority, of his white male attitude. 

A mere 72 hours previously, he could have said no such thing.  Three days earlier, John was clueless as to the potential his long weekend would hold.  He’d flown into New York City for business actually but he’d arranged to arrive a few days early for some hardcore playtime as well.  He’d been corresponding with a certain Dominatrix who called herself Mother Africa.  Everyone lies on the Internet and everyone exaggerates so he assumed her claims of psychological domination expertise and race play were blown out of proportion.  He’d been sufficiently aroused by their initial interaction so he thought it would be interesting to say the least to see where it could lead. 

Mother Africa was a soft-spoken, pleasant woman.  They’d communicated on the phone several times as well as chatted online.  Not once did she come off as irrational or overly demanding.  In fact, her demeanor could have been described as sweet.  She said she dabbled in BDSM when the notion hit her and she was extremely selective of the subs with whom she chose to play.  She never brought up the subject of money and she wasn’t even particularly interested in cam shows or making John perform tasks to show his sincerity or submissiveness.  She did ask a lot of questions: blunt, straightforward, embarrassing questions.  “Do you have a small cock?  Have you ever eaten shit?  How many times have you been fucked in the ass? Do you get off on being dressed like a sissy?”  All those questions and more rolled off her tongue as easily as if she was casually asking about the weather.  To make matters worse, she didn’t allow any stalling or beating around the bush when it came to answering the questions.  She demanded direct, explicit answers with exacting details and made it clear that her time was precious and she had no tolerance for coy or elusive answers.  John was outrageously aroused by her demeanor, by the fact that she could be so open and unambiguous about what she wanted.  It was that aloof sense of superiority that cemented the deal, that set the stage for their meeting.  Thinking he was paying her a compliment, he mistakenly said, “Of all the profiles of Black Dommes I’ve read online, yours is the most amazing I’ve ever come across.  You’re different.  Your analysis of race is humbling to say the least and you are obviously very intelligent.  I can’t believe you understand the mind of submissive white men so well.” 

She replied by saying, “Are you suggesting that most Black Dommes are stupid and that white men are so incredibly complex so as to render them indecipherable?” 

John backtracked, apologizing and trying to clarify.  “Ohhhh, noooo.  I was just saying that it’s clear that you are very well educated. I was . . . I was paying you a compliment, believe me.  It’s rare to come across someone as articulate as you are.” 

“Well, let me see if I understand,” she said.  “Based on what you’ve repeatedly told me, you believe that women are superior to men.  Additionally, you’ve said numerous times that you find Black women specifically to be the ultimate archetype, that we are, in fact, Goddesses, ‘supreme beings’ to you-- your words not mine.  Yet it seems like you’re saying that you’re shocked that I’m not some illiterate welfare queen who can barely form a coherent sentence, that you can’t believe that I’m as intelligent as say . . . a white person.  To my untrained ear, it sounds as if you’re saying that understanding the mind of a submissive white man requires super human/magical powers because a normal Black woman simply isn’t capable of understanding your uncomplicated albeit warped desires.  Does that about summarize what you’re trying to say?  Because what I hear you saying is that you’re practically dumbfounded that you found a Black Domme who is as intelligent as . . . you are.  I can assure you that I am outrageously offended by the notion that you would even consider yourself qualified to judge my intellect, let alone compliment me for it.  Moreover, white men are transparent and simple in their desires and it hardly takes a superior intellect to dissect your rather uncomplicated motives.  Additionally, the fact that you seem to espouse such love for Black women and then make underhanded, disparaging comments about us is quite troublesome.  It leads me to believe that you don’t actually think we’re truly superior but nothing more than sexual fetishes for your depraved fantasies.”

He couldn’t even form words.  He was speechless.  His cock was rock hard and dripping precum and his mind was reeling from arousal.  He mumbled another insufficient apology.  “I’m so sorry Mother Africa.  That’s not at all what I meant.  I’m just a stupid white boi.  Please forgive me.  Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”  He almost couldn’t hear her response he was jerking off so frantically just from her verbal reprimand.  John loved being put in his place.  He loved being knocked down from his self-defined pedestal of superiority.  The sensation of being told off, of being made to feel stupid was almost like having electricity sent from his nipples, to his cock, all the way to his asshole. 

They made arrangements to meet in October and his assignment over the course of the preceding month, his prerequisite for play as it were, was to read Nile Valley Contributions to Civilization by Anthony Browder and The Black Holocaust for Beginners by S.E. Anderson and write a literature review for each of them.  Never in his life had John even heard of someone requiring homework for a domination session so he didn’t take his task too seriously.  He googled the books and found them on Amazon and printed out their reviews.  They seemed like interesting reading from what he gathered but he didn’t even bother to buy the books. 

Twenty minutes late, he rushed into the lobby of the Hyatt authentically upset for being tardy; slipping the bellboy $50 to take the rest of his luggage to his room.  He’d wanted to be there early to make a good first impression but midtown traffic wasn’t so kind.  As arrogant as he tended to be, he did understand the rules of D/s play and was fully aware that leaving a Domme waiting was a big no-no.  She was already there, seated at the table of the restaurant, looking just as one would think a woman who called herself Mother Africa would look.  She wore her hair in a big Afro like a character from a 70s Blaxplotation flick.  Without any makeup at all, her brown complexion was glowing and radiant.  She wore a t-shirt with some sort of graphic design of an African mask on it that accentuated her rather large breasts and a long denim skirt that reached the floor.  Her Timberland boots were so small they looked like a child’s size.  She wore an arm-full of wooden bracelets on her right arm and an arm-full of copper bangles on her left arm that made noise every time she punctuated her sentences with arm movements.  One thing for sure, she was far more attractive in person than she was in her photos and she didn’t seem at all like John expected.  She looked like she could have been a graduate student waiting to have lunch with her professor rather than a Dominatrix ready to use and abuse a white boi. 

Mother Africa stood to greet him and turned her face to indicate that he should kiss her cheek as a sign of respect.  She graciously accepted his apology for being late, seemingly very understanding of the unavoidable traffic from JFK.  They sat and ordered lunch and had a very pleasant chat, not at all strained or awkward, without even the slightest hint of strain.  Erotic tension was in the air.  She teased and tormented him effortlessly and with skill and everything was going great, up until the moment she asked to see the summaries of the books he was assigned to read. 

John got away with anything and everything in life with his good looks, money, and arrogance.  In that moment, as he fumbled in his carry-on bag for the wrinkled papers, he felt ashamed he hadn’t even attempted the assignment he’d been given.  This was a real woman, a real-life flesh and blood woman whose dominance and superiority were evident in her very aura, not some picture on the Internet, and he was about to let her down.  He realized he’d fucked up by not following her orders.  He wasn’t about to let it show on his face however, and he handed the papers over and began what he thought was a fairly decent but superficial discussion of what he’d read from the printouts. 

“What is this?”  Mother Africa didn’t even bother to pick up the papers; she had a look of disgust on her face. 

“It’s the reviews you asked for,” John said, trying to appear confident. 

Crossing her arms in front of her, she didn’t say a word, her face not showing any signs of emotion. 

John’s heart was pounding.  This was the stuff of submissive dreams.  He could either choose to be defiant and willful, arousing her ire and wrath and eliciting what would surely be a severe session in discipline or he could choose to be apologetic and remorseful, showing the respect that every true sub longs to display in the presence of one to whom he truly feels inferior.  It wasn’t a decision he had to contemplate for too long as his cell phone rang and he held his finger up to excuse himself and answered the call.  For a good three minutes, he talked business, never taking his eyes off the lovely woman who sat inches from him, hoping the length of the phone call would distract her from his blunder. 

Leaning in, Mother Africa whispered to him, “I see you are here to waste my fucking time.”  With that, she took his cell phone from him, summarily closed it, and dropped it in his water glass. 

John stood up, knocking over his chair, causing quite a scene.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Are you crazy? First of all, that was an important call.  Second, that phone was expensive. Every contact I have is in that phone.  WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with you?” 

Mother Africa stood and walked away, leaving John there trying to dry his cell phone with his linen napkin, looking like an idiot screaming and cursing in front of the other lunch patrons.  John knew in that moment that he’d pushed too far.  He didn’t want her to leave.  He didn’t want things to end before they had even started and he ran after her.  “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing her arm before she entered the revolving doors of the hotel. 

She turned, looking at his white hand on the brown flesh of her arm and then looking directly in his eyes.  Her eyes burned a hole in his soul.  If looks could kill, John knew that he would die a slow, painful death.  She didn’t say a word.  She communicated everything she wanted to say with her eyes.  She didn’t even have to move them; it was if she was telepathically giving him commands.  There in the middle of the very public lobby of the Hyatt Regency in New York City, John Anderson, knelt on one knee and kissed the hand of Mother Africa and said, “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”  To the average person, it might have looked like he was popping the big question.  He looked up for approval and it was apparent his actions weren’t enough.  His face was burning from embarrassment and he heart felt as if it might actually explode.  His cock was straining against his pants and he felt like he might faint.  Looking around quickly, he knew that if he were to truly seek the forgiveness of this divine woman, he would have to assume a truly inferior position.  The shame of it all was intoxicating and she still hadn’t said a word.  On his hands and knees, he lowered his head to her foot and placed his lips on her boot and kissed it.  “Please, forgive me Mistress.  I beg you for the opportunity to make it up to you,” he said, loud enough for anyone nosey enough to want to hear. 

“Follow me,” she commanded as she walked outside into the beautiful Fall afternoon.  John panicked.  He stood up and looked around at all the people who were trying to be discrete but staring at his blatant display of submissiveness.  He ran back to the table, threw some money on the table for the food that they hadn’t even eaten, grabbed his bag, and ran after her, praying that she would still be outside. 

She wasn’t. 

The bell captain called out to him.  “Sir . . . the young lady . . . the one who . . . well sir, she told me to put you in a cab and have it take you to an address but I’m not supposed to tell you where.”  John looked around again, sure that everyone in the world could read his every deviant desire.  He was humiliated but more aroused than he’d ever been.  Slipping the bell captain a hundred dollar bill, he got in the cab and it set out for an unknown destination.  What was less than a half hour ride seemed like it took an eternity.  As the taxi weaved its way in and out of traffic to a quiet, tree-lined street in Queens, John was tempted to whip out his cock and masturbate right then and there. 

They arrived at an unassuming looking house and he paid the cabbie, tipping him well also, and clutched his bag so hard his knuckles were white.  He made his way to the front door and knocked, terrified that he was being set up but never more determined to experience additional discipline from this amazing woman. 

Mother Africa opened the door.  “Go around to the back,” and she shut the door in his face.

Making his way to the backyard, John knocked again.  This time, a Black man answered the door.  Wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and Timberland boots, he clearly resembled Mother Africa in his attire but John had no idea what to say to him.  He didn’t have to say anything as the man said, “Get downstairs, boy,” and moved aside.  John’s feet were frozen in place.  He didn’t even have a cell phone to call for a cab or call 911 if he wanted.  Every bit of common sense told him to run and not look back.  His knees shook as he descended the stairs to the basement that had clearly been altered to accommodate some serious kinky play.  The walls were padded and there was a drainage hole in the middle of the floor.  Restraints and BDSM equipment were everywhere.  While John was trying to get his bearings, trying to figure out exactly what he’d gotten himself into, Mother Africa came downstairs wearing the same t-shirt but tight, black leather pants that hugged her every curve and black high heeled leather boots. 

“Undress.” Her command was simple and to the point.  John wanted more.  He wanted an explanation of what was going to happen.  He wanted a detailed discussion of rules and limits and more head games.  He was too terrified to ask any questions.  Somehow, instinctively, he knew that he didn’t have a choice that he was supposed to go along for the ride or forever regret this once in a lifetime opportunity to experience something he’d only ever dreamed of. 

John slowly unbuttoned his shirt as the Black couple looked on, talking with each other in hushed tones he couldn’t understand.  The man sat casually in a chair, with one leg over the arm of it and his hand squeezing an impressive length of dick that snaked down the leg of his jeans.  If he wasn’t aroused by the white boi taking off his clothes in front of him he was certainly aroused by the sexy dance that Mother Africa was doing for him.  John tried to concentrate on his surroundings should he decide to make a run for it but the scene of these two people in such an intimate display proved to be too distracting.  They were kissing and caressing each other as they watched and laughed at John standing before them naked, his cock hard and completely out of his element, unsure of what to do next. 

“Oh, where are my manners?  I forgot to introduce the two of you.  Worm, this is my lover, Eric.  He’s my partner in crime shall we say,” she laughed as she applied nipple clamps to John and made him wince with pain.  “For the weekend, you will call him Daddy, got it?  And you’ll call me Mommy, understand?” 

John nodded, whispering, “Yes, Mommy,” in accordance with her desires, tingling with the sound of the word coming from his lips. 

Without warning, she slapped him hard in the face.  John was stunned but the hurt registered as pleasure.  She ran her hands over his body, gently caressing his chest, down his abdomen over his hard cock to his balls.  Without even a second’s hesitation, she squeezed his nuts so hard John fell to the floor, blinded by the pain, crying out.  Curled in the fetal position, he tried to pull himself together, to get back in the game.  His competitive nature wouldn’t allow him to lie there like a little wounded animal; he had to prove that he was in it to win it. 

The point of her black leather boot making full contact with his side divested him of any notion of competition and he lay on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.  

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“I gave you one small assignment and you didn’t even have the common fucking courtesy to pretend to do it.  You think you’re so smart,” she kicked him again, “I’ll have to show you who’s the boss around here.”  She spat directly in his face, her saliva dripping down his cheek.  She put the sole of her boot over his mouth and commanded that he lick it, all the while, taunting him.  “Look you little asswipe, I’m in charge here and what I say goes.  For the next three days, you belong to me.  You are my property.  You are my possession, my plaything.  I can do anything and everything I want to you and you won’t have a say.  I don’t care if you enjoy it or hate it.  It doesn’t matter to me what you experience.  I intend to use you for my entertainment and my pleasure any fucking way I see fit.” 

As if perfectly timed, the doorbell rang and Eric got up to answer the door.  “We have company.  I’ve invited a few friends over and I expect you to do whatever they want.  Understand?” 

John managed to get to his knees and remain upright as the first guest came downstairs.  The guy looked almost as nervous as he was.  “Are you guys sure about this?  I can do whatever I want to him, no questions asked?  This isn’t a joke is it?  I mean, I’m not going to pull out my dick and the cops are gonna jump out and arrest me or anything, right?”  After he was reasonably assured that it wasn’t a set up, he pulled out his dick and rubbed it on John’s face.  The smooth skin felt erotic and sensuous, the raunchy stench of man smell aroused him: the sweat, the piss, and the stink of an unwashed, uncut black cock was driving him mad. 

John’s mouth watered; he opened his lips, desperate to be fed some real stiff meat.  He didn’t have to wait long.  There was no need for prolonged foreplay or anything of the sort; the guy was there to get his dick sucked by a white guy.  All the initial trepidation gone, John sucked.  He got his face fucked and fucked well.  He tried to look over to see if his Mistress was pleased but couldn’t see.  His nose was deeply embedded in the wiry pubic hairs of the man who was using his mouth like a pussy.  The stranger grabbed his ears and started pounding, causing John to gag and almost puke.  That didn’t stop either of them.  John kept sucking that gorgeous black cock and the guy kept fucking his throat.  Tears formed in his eyes and he gasped for air.  Spit ran from the corners of his mouth and he sucked that cock like a porn star.  Like a true slut, he licked the smelly balls of the guy he was sucking and tried to work his tongue lower.  The guy caught on quickly and turned around and bent over, grabbing the back of John’s head and shoving it between his magnificent ass cheeks.  “Yeah, bitch, lick my dirty asshole.  I kept it dirty just for you, just in case you wanted to taste a Black man’s raunchy turds. Suck that dried shit out of my ass.”  He farted a rancid, wet, fart right in John’s mouth, which only made him ravenous for more.  

Without any more inhibitions, the guy turned around and shoved his dick in John’s mouth again, this time with every indication that he was going to shoot his load.  The dick swelled to mammoth proportions, he could feel the veins engorged with his tongue.  The man was grunting like an animal and thrusting the head of his dick deep in his throat.  “Come on white boy, eat my fucking black dick.  Oh shit, take this nut.  I’m going to give you a pint of my ball juice.  Swallow it.  Suck that thick scum right down your sissy throat.  Dumb white cunt.”  Just as John felt the first spurt of hot cum in his mouth, he felt the mind-numbing sting of a whip against the flesh of his ass.  He tried to scream out but he couldn’t.  He thought he was going to choke, to suffocate.  The persistent pounding in this mouth was accented by the rhythm of being whipped.  His brain misfired.  He loved the feeling of being a cum dump, nothing more than a receptacle for sperm for a Black man, he loved having that hard, black cock being shoved in his oral cavity, but he hated the pain being delivered by Mother Africa as she beat his ass like he was a renegade outlaw. 

John fell to the floor, drained and broken.  He had little reprieve as the doorbell rang again.  Before the first guy was even dressed, a second Black man was being escorted down the stairs.  A wave of shame coursed through his body as he realized that these weren’t actually friends as he had first thought but total strangers that Mother Africa had found on the Internet and who had been invited over to abuse a random white guy.  Eric insisted that the first man stay and use him some more, to enjoy the show, and to think of other ways he could be used. 

For the next few hours, as more and more strangers were invited to join the party, John was used over and over again, each time more brutally and savagely than before.  Just when he thought his face couldn’t get fucked any harder, he was forced to suck two dicks.  Each asshole was dirtier than the previous one, making him crave more filth.  Mother Africa taunted him.  “Work your nasty tongue up in that black asshole.  Get in there deep.  You feel it don’t you?  You taste that hot, nasty chocolate in there?  You want to eat it, don’t you?  You want to be fed like a shit-eating whore, don’t you?  You want to suck that log like it’s a shit cock, lick all that slimy ass juice out of the crevices.   I know you do.  You’re nothing but a filthy pig that craves being used.  You live to worship Black men, to prove to them how nasty you are. Worship him.  Worship his nasty shit as your holy sacrament.  Show him how much of a filthy white worm you are.  Tell him.  Tell him he’s your God.  Tell him that you dedicate your life to serving him.” 

John was high with lust.  “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted.  “Give me everything.  Give me your shit, your piss, your cum, your snot, and your puke.  I’ll eat it all and beg for more.  I’m nothing.  I’m a filthy, white bitch that needs to be used by Black men.  Fuck my hole raw.  Make me your bitch, sir.  I love black cock.  I’m nothing but a faggot slut for Black dicks fucking me any way they want.”    John was breathless and in heaven.  It was as if he was revealing his true nature to everyone and proud of it.  He was telling them the things he’d felt and dreamt and believed and voicing the truth for the very first time in his life.  He was liberated and free.  The abuse continued for hours.  Every time one of the men would cum in his mouth, he would be beaten.  He began to crave the sensation of the whip as much as he craved the taste of their creamy, thick, hot jizz. 

Mother Africa whispered in his ear, “You ready to get fucked, boy?  Are you ready to have that pussy of yours used like a cheap tramp?  Do you want that cum in you?  How about a filthy, hot piss enema?  All these guys could probably pump a couple of gallons of urine in your colon.  This is going to be fun.  Watching you get turned out.  Making you the slut for black cock that you have longed to be.”  In all the hours of being used, he’d yet to be fucked.  That was what he wanted more than anything, to be fucked and used like a dirty slut; he needed to be a white gangbang whore with an insatiable asscunt.  “Well, I have a little surprise.   We’ve got one more special guest for you.”

John’s mind reeled.  He had visions of a savage Mandingo warrior with a gigantic dick fucking his asshole, making it his own.  His own cock surged in anticipation.  His asshole throbbed as he looked around the room, all the Black men he’d sucked off were idly stroking their hard dicks waiting for the final act of the show.  Eric ushered the last person down the stairs but John’s eyes were filled with terror.  It was a fat, sloppy, dim-witted white guy. 

“Please, no, please, Mommy?  Daddy!  Nooo, I’ll be a good boi.  Anything but that.  Don’t make me do that.  I can’t.  It’s disgusting.”  Tears flowed down his cheeks as the white guy pulled down his khakis and dingy yellowed underwear to his ankles and waddled around the room giving high fives to everyone, totally oblivious to the fact that they were all laughing at him.  It was the ultimate humiliation for John.  Sucking black dick was an honor and a privilege.  To be forced to suck a white cock was unthinkable; it was nasty and horrible and seemed an unfair punishment.  He crawled on his hands and knees, pleading one more time for reprieve.  “Mommy, please, let me show you what a good boi I can be.  Anything, ANYTHING you can think of, I’ll do.  Just, please, don’t make me do that.  I’ll be a bitch for your dog; he can knot with me.  I’ll be your toilet, you can piss and shit in my mouth and I’ll eat it down and beg for more.  Daddy, you can be the first to fuck me, rip my ass open, make it hurt, use me anyway you want.  Fist fuck me.  I’m begging you, please don’t make me do this.”  John was pleading for his life.

It was then that Mother Africa worked her magic.  She leaned in close to his ear and he could feel her hot breath on his neck.  “You little fucking bitch,” she whispered.  “Don’t you get it?  You are the same as Tony here.  You are equally as repulsive, equally as nasty, you are white, JUST LIKE HIM.  You are going to suck him off alright and you better make him cum with your cocksucking mouth like you did all our other guests, ya’ hear me?  Eric’s going to fuck you in your whore asscunt while you suck his pathetic cock.”

Time stood still for John.  Tony’s cock was little more than folds of pink foreskin over a two-inch nub.  His stomach lurched at the thought of putting that thing in his mouth.  He looked around the room at all the beautiful black men of all shapes, sizes, and shades with their dicks hard and waiting to fuck him and then he looked down at his own cock.  He looked up at the white guy and then to Mother Africa.  This time, he used his eyes to communicate with her.  He pleaded and begged for her to not make him do this.  She slapped him again and forced his mouth open and forced it onto Tony’s flaccid penis. 

The feeling of that thing in his mouth made him want to puke.  It wouldn’t get hard and it felt soft and mushy.  The room filled with laughter as everyone found the sight amusing.  He tried his best to suck hard to get this unbearable task over and done with.  Tony pumped but his fat stomach kept getting in the way.  The smell of his sweat wasn’t arousing to John; it was sickening.  As hard as it could get, there was no way it could fuck his throat, it was like sucking a little, deformed finger.  This was humiliation beyond his wildest imagination.  And again, just when he thought he was at his limit, just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, he felt the head of Eric’s dick at his ass. 

John got on his hands and knees and spread his ass waiting to get fucked.  He forgot all about the white cock he was supposed to be sucking.  The sting of the whip on his back reminded him of his task.  “Come on bitch, suck that white cock while you get fucked by a real man,” someone in the room yelled.  “Take that dick up your faggot asshole,” they chanted.  Tony had to get on his knees to work his prick back in John’s mouth but he didn’t seem to mind.  It was probably the only time he’d ever had anyone suck his cock and he didn’t have to pay for it.  He was enjoying the attention; he didn’t care that it was negative.

John could see his Divine Mistress Africa stalking him, walking around him, surveying her prize.  She’d masterminded the entire thing.  She kissed her partner and ran her hands over his naked chest, saying, “Baby, I want you to fuck him HARD, make him scream.  Do it for me, baby. Use him.  Ram every inch of your beautiful dick in his rectum and make him pay for being an insolent, disrespectful little bitch.” 

Feeling the head of that enormous cock rubbing on his asshole felt amazing.  It was the searing hot pain that blinded him as it pushed in his anus and made it’s way deep in his bowels that almost made him pass out from pain.  He knew not to say stop and the riding crop across his back reminded him of the other part of his assignment.  He put his mouth on the cock in front of his face and started sucking.  His mind was playing tricks on him.  He loved the feeling of pain in his ass, he loved the sensation of being fucked like a rag doll, he hated the feeling of being forced to fellate the man that reminded him of his inherent inferiority. 

“FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM!”  Everyone in the room was cheering and applauding.  John grabbed his own cock and started stroking it frantically.  Mother Africa kicked him soundly in the side, reminding him that this was not about his pleasure but about hers. 

The room smelled of sex.  Pheromones and sweat and lust and pure man-fucking overwhelmed his senses.  A half a dozen Black men were lined up, waiting for their turns to get a piece of white tail; all he had to do was make the two men fucking him cum.  Degraded and dejected, John worked his finger up Tony’s flat, flabby ass and wiggled it around, coaxing him to cum.  It worked and Tony fell, collapsed on the floor, his little cock jerking and leaking what little cum his inferior testicles could produce. 

John had accomplished the first part of his mission and it was on to the best part.  “Oh God.  Daddy. PLEEEASE fuck me harder.  Ram your cock in me.  Make me your bitch.  Use my fuckhole, Daddy.  Fuck the shit out of me.  More, I want more black cock.  I’m a slut for black cock.  Give it to me.  POUND ME.  MORE.  I need a cock in my mouth.  Feed me more superior black cum.  Give me everything.”

It was the lone female in the room that would fulfill his desires.  The only one who hadn’t gotten any satisfaction thus far, she stepped up with a very formidable ebony strapon attached to her hips.  It was longer, harder, and thicker than all the other cocks he had sucked that day but he was in the zone.  He was in that sub space where everything was arousing; nothing was too extreme. 

“You belong to me, cunt, you know that right?  You’re my little white bitch.”  She reached down and started pulling his nipple clamps, twisting them, when things started to black out for John.  Everything he was feeling was pleasure.  From the 12 inches of hard black plastic that was ravaging his throat to the 10 inches of magnificent black cock that was breeding his twat, to the pain he experienced in his nipples and the searing hot flesh where he’d been beaten, he was experiencing everything as pleasure. 

John couldn’t use words anymore.  This is what he’d prayed to experience all of his adult, submissive life.  All he could do was grunt and groan like a feral, wild animal and hope that everyone understood his primal sounds to mean, “FUCK ME HARDER. FUCK ME!!!!” 

Over the course of the next three days, John experienced more mental and physical torture than he’d ever hoped to imagine.  He knew his Mommy had come to release him, to send him back out into the real world.  He didn’t want to go.  He wanted to stay there forever.  He wanted to live in that basement and be used 24/7 as a white cum dump.  He’d never felt more whole, satisfied, or authentic as he did being tortured and abuse by such beautiful and vicious individuals.  His spirit and his body had been broken.  With his last bit of energy, he was prepared to negotiate a way to stay with his Nubian Dominatrix Extraordinaire and her lover to be their pet, plaything and sub. 

Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved


Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Law and Order





There is this presumption that exists between most married couples in America.  “Oh, my husband/wife would never understand my interest in ___________,” and the blank is filled in with some sort of sexual behavior that is supposedly too extreme, arguably too outside the very conservative, frigid boundaries of their spouse for him or her even to wrap their minds around it, let alone accept it.  People hide their most authentic selves from the person they are supposed to be most connected to, most intimate with, the one person on the planet who they are supposed to feel close enough to share any secret and still feel loved.  That sort of honesty only happens in self-help relationship books and AfroerotiK erotic stories.  In the real world, people compartmentalize their sexuality, sharing their secrets and fantasies with virtual strangers on computer screens late at night and not only believing that their spouse would never understand their desires but that they are also incapable of being aroused by anything beyond missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out. 

Katie Largo was just such a woman.  She was a world-class slut of epic proportions and the type of white woman you would look at and say to yourself, “There’s no way in hell she even thinks about sex let alone enjoys it,” but you would lose all your money if you placed a wager on such a premise.  The homely, average, PTA president, and married mother of two was not only sexual, she was a connoisseur of the most filthy, nasty, perverse, depraved forms of sex possible.  There weren’t three people on the planet Earth who would look at her and call her attractive but that’s ultimately what drove her to be such nasty whore.  Standing 5’5” with mousy brown hair that was sort of limp and lifeless, Mrs. Largo hadn’t aged well.  Her misspent youth tanning left her skin leathery and spotted.  Childbirth left her with stretch marks and God’s unfair distribution of genetics left her quintessentially PLAIN.  Katie was a “real” desperate” housewife and she didn’t look anything like the women on the televisions shows. 

Katie wanted and needed to feel desirable.  She had an intense, deep-seeded need to feel sexy and that led her to late-night cam sessions and clandestined meetings with strangers in dark alleys and random lover’s cars to fulfill her need to feel wanted.  It was her compulsion.  She wallowed in immoral reverie night and day, always looking for another opportunity to feel her pussy get wet and her clit get hard at the illicit suggestion of one of her random fuck buddies.  She was, and is, so very typical of white women all across the country, in every town, in every city who feign indignation, shock, horror, and conservative outrage at anyone who gets caught cheating while she is committing the very same sin herself.  And because race is still such a taboo subject, and because Black sexuality is so deeply entrenched in white America’s secret lusts, it was not hard for her to rationalize that her husband would NEVER in ten million years understand her desire to be an insatiable, cocksucking slut for a very well-hung Black man.  That filled in her blank.

Max Moore understood Katie’s obsession with big black cock all too well because he had been her supplier.  They met on craigslist simply enough.  He responded to her ad seeking an illicit and intellectual liaison.  For the better part of a year, more off than on, he would amuse himself by giving her with all the ebony cock she could handle, sometimes more than she could handle, and by degrading and using her in any way his imagination could conjure.  Max was the exact opposite of Katie.  Charming, engaging, articulate, any and every person who gazed upon his countenance, both men and women, would be astonished at his beauty.  He was an attorney and at 6’ even he still had time to work out and obtain a body sculpted from hours of hard work in the gym, he was the personification of Ebony perfection.  His skin was the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate and looked like the smoothest of satin covering rippling, bulging muscles.  His facial features were smooth, distinct, refined.  His thick, wavy hair was well-maintained and short with a precise hairline sculpted by only the most skilled barber.  He had an infectious smile that radiated charm.  His pecs filled out all his shirts and his hardened nipples seemed to protrude like little pencil erasers.  His stomach was a washboard of abs and his ass sat high and tight on his back, full, round, and two globes of brown perfection.  His balls were hairy and full and hung heavy and low. 

It was his dick, however, that would have Katie ready to meet him at a moment’s notice to do anything and everything he told her.  Even flaccid, Max’s cock was still bigger than her husband John’s pathetic four-incher could ever manage to get.   When it was in its most glorious engorged and swollen state, Max’s cock was too big for Katie to handle.  It hurt her when he was pounding her relentlessly causing her to hold back tears while she was somehow simultaneously on the verge of orgasm.  She would be sore for days but that only served as a constant reminder of her illicit exploits and that would keep her aroused.  There were even a couple of times she had to pretend to have gotten a sore throat from a cold because Max had throat fucked her so hard, shoving his black cock so deep in her esophagus, that she lost her voice. 

Katie was nothing more than a fuck toy to Max, a thing to be used.  She wasn’t by any means a dumb woman she was just socially inept.  He listened half-heartedly to her incessant bitching about her mediocre life and her melodramatic complaints about her job, her sister, her husband, and her parents.  She complained about her in-laws, her kids, she even whined about her dog.  It never ended.  Every time she opened her mouth it was an endless string of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  It seemed she always had something stupid to complain about and she convinced herself that Max cared enough about her to really give a shit.  She was deluded.  Max saw her as a nasty, married white slut and she was entertainment, something to do to see how far he could push her.  Katie knew that under any other circumstances, she could never get a man like Max to pay attention to her; she knew that it was her sexuality that kept him coming back for more so she did her best to be the nastiest, sluttiest, dirtiest of all the women he played with.  If he gagged her, she begged to be spit on.  If he slapped her, she demanded that he choke her.  She would gaze up at him with pride when he pulled his stiffened rod from her asshole and she would suck it clean. 

Once, Max had Katie meet him at a bar downtown.  He told her to wear something slutty.  She ransacked her teenage daughter’s closet and got a tank top and a short skirt and wore a pair of conservative high heels she bought to go to an awards ceremony for her husband.  Sexy, she was not . . . not so much.  She looked a hot, damn mess: old, desperate, and trashy.  She showed up to meet Max and met him and three friends as well. She didn’t get all their names nor did she really didn’t care about them either; she was overjoyed at the prospect of Max showing her off like a trophy.  She sat down and they ordered her drinks and she felt like the bell of the ball.  Her pussy was soaking her sensible, cotton, white underwear through and through and the nipples of her tits poked through the cheap knit material of her top. 

Max and his friends plied Katie with alcohol and groped her openly.  They pulled off her panties and put them on the table for all to see; they made her spread her legs and they roughly fingered her cunt, daring her to cum in public.  Pulling out his dick, one of Max’s buddies forced her down on it under the table; the rest of the pack started making loud hoopin’ and hollerin’ noises loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons in the seedy establishment.  Katie’s brain registered it all as an affirmation of her attractiveness.  All the attention she was getting from the men, essentially all strangers, was a stroke to her ego. 

“Come on, bitch, I have to go take a piss,” and he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off in the direction of the men’s room like a child about to be spanked.  The bathroom in this establishment looked about the same as the rest of the place, a little outdated, a bit dirty, a lot dark, and totally inappropriate for a married mother of two to be hanging out in.  The bathroom itself had one stall, two urinals, and a double vanity sink with dark maroon-colored textured wallpaper and art deco light fixtures.  There was a barely detectable sheen of stale, semi-dry piss on the floor but that didn’t concern Max as he pushed Katie to her knees and told her to pull out his cock and start sucking.  For a split second, she glanced at the door, fully aware that it was unlocked and anyone could walk in, and had a chill of terror and arousal go up her spine.  Katie lived for and loved attention and the fact that someone was willing to put her in such a scandalous position made her temperature rise. 

When it came down to sucking cock, no one could ever argue about Katie’s skills.  That’s because she had none.  Her technique wasn’t particularly unique or sensual, her tongue not very talented, she did a mediocre suck job.  When Max got tired of her lame attempts, he would usually grab her head and skull-fuck her to completion, leaving her face dripping with his semen.  That night, just as he was about to brutally throat fuck her, the door flew open and Max’s friends crowded, into the small bathroom.

“Oh shit, what do we have here?  What sort of nasty bitch sucks dicks in a men’s room on the floor?  Max, where do you find these bitches?”  They all laughed and took turns watching the door as everyone lined up and pumped her mouth full of hard pricks and cum.  They all walked out, leaving her kneeling and covered and cum, temporarily ashamed at her own disgraceful behavior but alternately proud of her ability to be such an extreme slut. 

The time in between her meetings with Max was torture for Katie.  She would be obligated to have a lame romp with her husband once every couple of weeks.  He had no technique, no stamina, he never made her feel sexy; he never gave her that dangerous thrill she got from cheating.  Katie considered Max her real lover and she convinced herself that they had a deeper connection than they really did.  Max would tell her how she made his cock hard, how turned on he got thinking about her meeting him in the parking lot of her church to fuck or having a seedy rendezvous at a cheap motel and screwing the sheets off the bed and Katie would interpret that to mean that he wanted her.  She would calculate how and when they could meet again as soon as possible.  She might have fooled herself into thinking that they had some deeper connection but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that there weren’t other women vying for Max’s attention.  She made sure to send sexy pictures of herself, to write erotic stories, and send explicit text messages when she could to make sure that he knew that she was available and waiting for his instructions.  She loved his kinky mind and his ability to make her feel beautiful and dirty simultaneously. 

Katie had a Pavlovian response to getting an email from Max.  Before she could even get the email open, she was hot and bothered, her body showing signs of arousal.  She waited until she was alone, away from the kids and her hubby so she could rub her twat and type out a response.  She awoke early one Monday morning to an email waiting for her from Max with the subject line: Keeping you updated.  She had to read it several times before it all sunk in.  It essentially said that he had been dating someone for almost a month, that things were getting serious, and he didn’t have a need for her anymore, that he was focusing completely on his new lady love.  She responded by saying, “Oh, that’s really nice.  I’m happy for you.  Good luck.” The fact that she didn’t mean it was irrelevant.  What she really meant was, “What about me?  What about my needs?  What about what we shared?” 

By the end of the week, Katie was obsessed with worming her way back into Max’s life.  She wanted him to cheat on his lover with her, to want her so much that he turned his back on his girlfriend for the adrenaline rush of fucking her in a nasty bathroom.  She was sure that his new girlfriend couldn’t do that for him.  She knew that whoever this woman was, she wasn’t the sort of woman that could arouse him the way she did.  In her twisted and sexually immature mind, she reasoned that her vulgarity was some sort of gift to Max and that he treasured it.  She sent him an email saying, “Hey, you’ve been on my mind.  I would love to remain friends.  It seems a shame to throw away our chemistry and our connection. Maybe we can just email each other every once in a while, you know, keep in touch.” 

His response was short and very blunt. “Katie, what you and I had was not a connection, it was my experimentation in domination.  I get frustrated occasionally with all the racism and bigotry that surround me as a Black man in corporate America, all the oppression that white people bend over backwards to deny exists, and I just wanted to take out my frustration on you.  It was wrong, it was unhealthy, and it’s over.  I’m with a really amazing sistah right now and she’s and attorney as well.  We have a lot in common. She’s all I need to get by. I don’t want to jeopardize what I have with her for a meaningless fuck with you.  I hope you understand.  Take care and best of luck to you.” 

For any sane, reasonable person, that would have been sufficient.  But Katie wasn’t the most mentally stable person in the world.  Sure, she could hold down a good job and raise her children and clip coupons and keep her family organized but her concepts of sex and sexuality were warped.  Any attention she got from men was like a drug to her.  She needed the rush of feeling sexy, even if she was while being slapped around and being called a filthy whore in the process. 

Three full days hadn’t passed completely before she decided to send Max a video they had made together of her licking his ass.  She thought it was particularly erotic because she looked particularly hungry for it and it was so symbolic, to her at least, of her willingness to debase herself for his gratification.  She thought if she could just remind him of all the good times they shared, she could win his attention again.  She needed it. 

The response came quickly.  Katie could barely contain herself in the seconds it took for the email to open.  “Katie, this is Trenae, Maxwell’s girlfriend.  Do me a favor, don’t write him, call him, don’t text him; don’t send him videos of you doing nasty stuff.  Don’t send him any gifts and don’t post on his Facebook page.  Don’t communicate with him anymore.  PERIOD.  Please don’t disrespect me again by communicating with my man.  I hope I don’t have to tell you again because there will be repercussions if you do.” 

Katie froze.  Her adultery had always been compartmentalized, just between her and her lovers.  No one else ever knew about it.  She never confided in a friend or a counselor, even her sister.  She never left telltale clues for anyone to find she was that good.  She was cautious and secretive and regimented in her ability to make sure that her cheating ways were part of her secret identity.  Here, staring her in the face on her computer screen, was another person invading her private realm.  Someone else knew about her.  She wondered what Max had told this person, what details had he shared with her; what did this woman know about her life and could she pose a threat to her marriage? 

Katie felt like her world was spinning out of control; she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  Even when she would come home late at night, her breath stinking of another man’s cum, her holes used and abused, stretched out and raw, even if John awoke from sleeping to ask her where she’d been, she could make up a story about her book club or work or some lame excuse about being at her sister’s and he would NEVER suspect that she was cheating.  She’d never revealed her sexual desires to her husband so there was no way he would even comprehend that she needed anything more than a two minute hump every two weeks.  She relished those moments when she could push her luck, test fate as it were and almost get caught.  That was her way of feeling the excitement she was missing in her humdrum life.  She would intentionally put her cum-stained panties on the top of the pile of laundry just to test fate and see if her husband would notice the funk of another man’s sperm that had been in her pussy.  She did whatever she could do in order not to face the fact that she was an average looking woman with a mediocre life and absolutely no chance of making an impact on the world. 

It was in that moment however, reading the words of that email over and over again, that she felt an adrenaline rush like never before.  THAT was what cheating was all about!  All the lying and the sneaking wasn’t exciting if you were so good at it that there was never any chance of getting caught.  The hairs on her arms were standing up and heart was racing.  Her heart told her to be afraid, to delete Max’s email address and number and move on with her life but THIS was the excitement that had been missing from her life.  Her twisted little mind told her that she was going to figure out a way to get Max to continue their affair.  Her mind couldn’t even process all she was feeling.  All she knew was that she felt thrilling sensations and that was something that was tragically missing from her life. 

Katie calculated her moves strategically.  After several weeks, she decided on a course of action and she sent Max a text about 15 minutes after she thought he would be getting off work, assuming that would be a time when his girlfriend wasn’t with him.  She texted him saying that they needed to talk and asked when and where they could meet up.  It was several hours before she got a response.  It simply said, “OK, meet me on Friday night, 10pm, at the church parking lot where I fucked you before.” 

Thrilled wasn’t even the word to describe how elated Katie was in that moment.  She went to the mall to buy a real dress, something sexy just for the occasion.  She attempted to go to Nordstrom’s but didn’t even make it in the front doors.  She walked around Macy’s for the better part of an hour bewildered and confused, not sure what to try on.  Money wasn’t even the issue; she had more than enough to buy something outrageously expensive.  What she didn’t have was taste.  She could pick out clothing for work and church with no problems.  Trying to find something to wear to entice Max was an exercise in futility because, when all was said and done, she simply wasn’t sexy.  If clothes make the man, or woman in this case, then Katie might as well have worn the emperor’s clothing because anything and everything she touched looked like she was a bridesmaid at someone’s third wedding.  She ended up at Express, picking out a pair of shiny, indigo-blue, low-rise pants that showed off her muffin top and stretch marks and a rhinestone covered tunic top that covered all her imperfections and had a built in cup to hold up her tits.  She bought a pair of clunky stripper heels to complete the look.  She tried the entire ensemble on when she got home and felt really sexy.  She pranced in front of the mirror, trying to mimic moves other sexy women had in an effort to seduce Max one final time.  Except, if she had it her way, it wasn’t going to be the last time.  He was going to be so mesmerized by her vulgarity, her blatant sexuality that he was going to need her to fulfill the base and primal desires surely his girlfriend wouldn’t.

She didn’t have to make up an excuse to tell her husband where she was going, he was out of town on business.  Her daughter was having a sleepover with her friends and her son was home trying to sneak peeks at his sister’s friends and playing video games.  She told them that she was going to a movie and told them to behave and text her if they needed her.  She changed her clothes in the bathroom of a nearby McDonald’s and put on some pink lip gloss, a little too much mascara, the wrong color powder that made her look slightly older, and she brushed her hair and tossed it a few times to give it some body. 

She pulled into the parking lot of Zion Lutheran about 15 minutes early.  Sitting in her car and waiting for Max to show up, Katie reflected on the last time they met in this parking lot.  It was a cold winter evening, unlike this warm summer night.  His cock was hard and out when she got in his heated truck.  They didn’t even share small talk, he just pushed her head down on his dick and started fucking her mouth.  When all was said and done, after he had deposited his creamy load in her stomach, Max thought he noticed some sort of movement in the shadows.  He insisted on walking Katie to her car to make sure she was safe.  He held the door for her and gave her a hug and even waited until her car was warm and she drove off.  To Katie, that meant that he valued her, that he saw her as more than just a hole or three to fuck.  It made her feel beautiful and valued. 

Right on time, Max pulled into the parking lot in his shiny Black Tahoe, kept the engine running, and blinked the high beams to signal for Katie to join him.  She wobbled in her cheap shoes to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in.  Before the door was closed good, she heard a voice from the back seat, “Hello Katie.”  Horrified, Katie turned.  She knew instinctively that it was Trenae.  Katie panicked and reached for the door.

“Freeze,” Max said calmly, knowing full well that he had power over Katie that his girlfriend never could.  He was right.  She loved the assertiveness and alpha male attitude Max had, there was something biologically magnetic about his masculinity that made her melt to his will. 

“Now,” Trenae spoke softly, “I thought I told you, don’t contact my man ever again or there would be consequences. I did tell her that, didn’t I, Maxwell? Do you remember me telling her that?” 

They laughed, “Yes, baby, I remember that very clearly.” 

Turning to get a better look, the glow from the street lights illuminated Trenae just enough for Katie to realize she was out of her league.  Trenae’s outfit was flawless, even her makeup looked professionally done.  She was the type of women who would turn heads wherever she went.  She appeared to be the same height as Katie but it was clear that her deep, rich, ebony skin tone was without even the tiniest imperfection.  Her almond shaped eyes were enchanting; her full, African lips were pouty and inviting.  Her hair was a thick mass of kinks and curls.  It was more evident that she was Max’s equal aesthetically.  Katie, in that moment, felt all the fear and insecurity of a teenage girl in high school competing for attention for a boy with the captain of the cheerleading squad. 

Trying to figure out the fastest way out of this situation, realizing she was over her head and that they had set her up, Katie started negotiating.  “Listen, I’m sorry I contacted you Max,” speaking directly to him and completely ignoring Trenae, “I just wanted to talk . . . I . . . I . . . I just needed to make sure that my life was safe. That’s all.  You have to understand, I just couldn’t take the chance that she was going to tell my husband.  I  . . . I won’t . . . look, I just want to go home and I promise I won’t contact you again.” 

Trenae spoke up.  “Maxwell, does she look like she came here to just talk?  Looks like to me . . . I mean . . . to meeeeeee it looks like she came here to get fucked.  What does it look like to you?”    

“If I were a gambling man . . . and I am . . . I would put my money on the fact that she came here to get some of this dick.”  He grabbed his thick package and they laughed.  Katie’s face was flush with color.  She was seething inside, angry and trying to figure out how to take control of the situation but trapped by her own ego. 

Max put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street.  “Wait, where are we going?  I wanna go home,” Katie protested, “Let me out!”  She reached for the door handle like she was going to open it knowing full well that there was no way she was going to do that in a moving vehicle.  She was really starting to panic.  She didn’t know if they were going to hurt her or not.  All of her fears about how violent Black people are started flooding her brain.  She was hyperventilating and trying to hold back the tears.  She thought they were going to kill her, that she was going to be just like all those white women on the news who were kidnapped by Black men.  She could be forgiven for thinking that in the heat of the moment because she was too scared to realize that almost each and every allegation of a white women being kidnapped by a Black man was made up in an attempt by another adulterous married white whore to gain attention or get away from her husband.   Hot tears streamed down her face and smeared her makeup. 

Less than ten minutes later, they pulled into an underground parking garage and she pulled herself together enough to get her wits about her.  She hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going so she couldn’t have gotten back to her car if she wanted.  At least, she thought, she still had her cell phone. She could call a taxi to take her back to her car or call the police if she had to.  She didn’t want to do that just yet, she didn’t want to have to answer questions to her husband about a police report so she just waited to see what was going to happen. “Where are we?  What are you going to do to me? This is kidnapping.  If you let me go now, I promise not to call the police.” 

“I think you’ve forgotten something, Missy.  Max and I know the law a little bit better than you do.  We have proof that you wanted to meet with him.  It would be really hard for you to allege that we kidnapped you when you initiated the meeting,” Trenae responded casually as if she didn’t give a good god damn what Katie was threatening.  “You see, you broke the law, my law that I very specifically spelled out for you.”  Trenae got out of the truck and opened up the front door and held her hand out to help Katie down.  Katie defiantly ignored the gesture and held on to the door frame to get down.  Trenae continued as they all walked towards the door of a rather nice townhouse, Max leading the way.  “You know what happens when you break the law, Katie?  You have to suffer the consequences.  This here is the Trenae Roberts Justice system, and the people are represented by two separate but equally important factions: the bitch, that’s me, who investigates the crimes, and the black mother fucker, that’s Maxwell, who prosecutes the offenders.”  Trenae and Max burst out into outrageous laughter.  “You like that babe, I just made that up on the spot.  That was funny, right?”  They gave each other a fist bump and looked at Katie for some sign of acknowledgement that it was, in fact, hilarious.  Katie was not amused. 

Max unlocked the door and they all ascended a flight of stairs that lead to a living room; Katie could see a kitchen and dining room off to the left.  By this time, her nerves had calmed down a bit and she was just waiting for what was going to happen.  She didn’t think they were going to hurt her so she was trying to figure out how she was going to explain all this to her husband because surely, she thought, that was their goal, to destroy her marriage.  Katie was calculating how much of this she could lie, deny, and exactly how trapped her husband felt in his life of mediocrity for him to overlook her transgression and opt to stay in a marriage.  If Katie could just convince him that it was a one-time mistake that she would never do again she was sure all would be forgiven.  “What do you want from me?  Money?  Well, I’m not going to give you any.  I know how you people are.  If I give in to your blackmail, it will never stop.  Go ahead, tell my husband.  He loves me and he’ll forgive me.”  Reverse psychology was not a skill set she had mastered. 

Trenae rolled her eyes.  “Bitch, didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?  God damn!  Blackmail?  Dumb bitch.  Shut the hell up. You people?  Who the fuck does this bitch think we are, some sort of common criminals?  Give me a mother fucking break.”  Trenae’s tirade waned off into something incoherent as she and Max both went up another flight of stairs, leaving Katie sitting there, unattended. 

In that moment, sitting there alone, unsure of what to do, Katie Largo felt completely out of her element.  She was trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it but her curiosity got the best of her and she was quite convinced she couldn’t make it very far in her heels without her feet blistering and bleeding.  She wanted to stay, she wanted to see just what Max and Trenae had in store for her.  She wanted to stay to see it out to the end, whatever that meant.  She had done all this to herself.  The cheating, insisting on contacting Max again, if she had only been sane enough to just walk away, none of this would have been happening. 

At her core, in the deep recesses of her subconscious mind, she knew unequivocally that there was something wrong with her, that a normal, healthy, mature person wouldn’t have put themselves in this situation.  Her conscious mind told her, however, that it wasn’t people who looked like her who were motivated by lust, who made poor choices based on their libidos.  Katie was perfectly content to rationalize that she was justified for every single step she had taken thus far, she was OK with the lying, the cheating, the desperate and despicable behavior because her sexuality was so compartmentalized and dysfunctional, her self-perceptions of what it meant to be a married, white woman were so removed from her actual behaviors she could rationalize that everything she had done to date was acceptable. 

“Come here, bitch,” Max bellowed from upstairs.  Katie wobbled on her heels to the stairs and saw Trenae standing at the top of the staircase.  She was dressed in a pair of black panties, a matching bra, and heels that didn’t appear to belong to either a stripper or a hooker.  She did appear to be rather annoyed, however.  Katie didn’t even let it faze her and she ascended the stairs slowly.  When she got to the top of the stairs, Trenae stood firmly in the way between Katie and Max and she wouldn’t move.  She stood there stoically, silently waiting for Katie to ask permission to pass.  It was a test of wills, a showdown of woman vs. woman, a battle of the bitches.  Max appeared at a bedroom door off to the side, “What are you waiting for, bitch, I told you to come here?”

Feeling empowered, Katie physically pushed Trenae to the side and breezed past her to stand obediently by Max’s side.  She felt quite proud of herself, like she was serving her Master well, so much so that she was oblivious to the audible gasp of outrage and shock by both Max and Trenae.  To her credit, it wasn’t as if she was being intentionally disrespectful to Trenae it was just that Katie couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept that she was inferior to her.  She suffered from a form of cognitive dissonance, it was impossible for her to grasp that she didn’t possess some sort of inherent privileged status over Trenae.  In Katie’s mind, she had white skin and that meant that she had to mean more to Max on some hierarchal/genetic/intrinsic level.  To contemplate anything other than that would cause her brain to shut down. 

Even though she couldn’t articulate her beliefs, even though Katie had never once given an ounce of thought to her relationship with Black women (or more appropriately, the lack of a relationship with them) Katie had lived her entire, pathetic 48 years with the subconscious belief that she was better than Black women and never exposed herself to a person or experience that would challenge that belief.  She didn’t know anything about Black women, nor did she care.  She had never leafed through the pages of an Essence Magazine, she had never read a book by Toni Morrison or Alice Walker, she had never once seen Waiting to Exhale or The Color Purple; Katie had never had a real Black girlfriend in her life.  She would occasionally glance at a picture of Michelle Obama when some website was reporting about her outfit or she would stare in mild disgust as she surfed the TV at one of those shows where Black women were weaved out, backstabbing, social-climbers but that was really the extent of her interaction with or contemplation about Black women.   Pushing Trenae aside was like flicking a bug off her plate at a cookout.  She felt no connection, care, or concern.

Max was not so disaffected.  “Bitch, are you crazy?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  How dare you disrespect my queen like that.”  If the real life situation had been a 70’s Blaxploitation flick, this would have been the scene where Katie would have gotten soundly pimp-slapped and ended up flying half way across the room.  Katie stared up at Max in sincere shock and disbelief.  She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.  Standing there, wide-eyed and bewildered, Katie wondered why Max appeared to be upset.  She knew Trenae was his girlfriend but that didn’t mean much to her.  She figured that she had a husband whom she casually disrespected all the time so couldn’t grasp why Max appeared to be upset with her for pushing aside just a girlfriend. 

Max grabbed Katie by the arm and dragged her into the bedroom.  She scrambled behind trying not to fall.  It was clearly a spare bedroom because it was sparsely furnished.  There was a small lamp on the corner of the desk that illuminated the entire room and kept everyone in shadow.  Trenae appeared at the door and she walked over to Max and he put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the forehead.  “You okay, babe?  I mean . . . she didn’t hurt you or anything did she?” 

Trenae chuckled and offered, “No, she didn’t hurt me but thank you, precious, for being concerned about me,” and kissed him back on the lips. It was a tender, sweet exchange and for a brief moment Katie felt a pang of jealousy that she had never, not once in her life, had anyone kiss her so tenderly, with such meaning.  Trenae immediately picked up on Katie’s look of insecurity and took advantage of the situation.  Sliding her hand up Max’s now bare, muscled chest, she teased his nipple briefly before bringing her hand around to the back of his neck and pulling him down to her, she kissed him passionately.  Their kiss wasn't just a kiss; it was the communication of African spirits freed from bondage.  Alvin Ailey himself couldn’t have choreographed a better dance of tongues and thick, full lips moving together in harmony.  Max’s hands roamed down the sides of Trenae’s body, finding their resting place on the curves of her full, round ass.  Filling his hands with her meat, he pulled her body closer as they continued to kiss.  Gentle, soft moans escaped her lips and her body began to writhe and move like she was fucking Max standing up. 

Katie cleared her throat.  She thought to herself, “I have too much self-respect to let them ignore me like some sort of inconsequential furnishing.  I’m not going to take this.”  The fact that she had been on her knees in a public restroom performing oral sex on FOUR men a few months ago, the fact that she had been slapped, choked, gagged, and degraded and asked for more, the fact that self-respect was the last term that should ever be associated with her was an irony totally and completely lost on her.  “Look,” she said rather arrogantly, “If you two want to be alone I can . . .”

Before the words completely left her lips, both Max and Trenae said in syncopated harmony, “Bitch, SHUT UP,” and she was effectively silenced.  Their patience was running thin for Katie’s company so they decided to move the action along.  Katie was instructed to take off her shoes and Trenae pulled off her pants and thong and left her there with just her sparkly shirt on.  Max reached in her top and pulled out her tits, leaving her exposed in a vulgar, obscene way. 

During all of the adjustments and maneuvering, Katie stood there and complied like a malleable, pliable doll, not once voicing any concern or desire to be let go.  Max squeezed her saggy breasts with their age spots and stretch marks and brown nipples that never really got hard and for a split second, it registered as pain in her mind and she cried out and tried to pull away.  The discomfort didn’t last long and was commuted to pleasure in her brain in short order and she was begging for more. 

“You like that, don’t you?”  Trenae whispered softly in her ear from behind, her body intimately close.  Katie responded by whimpering.  She didn’t like it, she loved it.  Trenae continued.  “You really are a nasty slut, aren’t you, a filthy white whore?  Look at you, turned on by being treated like an object.  You came here to get your pussy, mouth, and asshole pounded by some hard, black cock.  You want Maxwell to fill your horny cunt with his hot sperm, have it dripping out when you go home to your little-dicked hubby.  I bet your pussy is wet right now just thinking about it, isn’t it?”  Katie nodded, never making a sound, never taking her eyes off Max but she was fixated on the voice that was in her ear, in her head really, saying all the things that she wanted to hear. 

Standing in the middle of the room and all of her senses heightened, Katie craved release.  She wanted to get fucked and used and to have it all culminate in an explosive orgasm.  Trenae brought her hand around and placed it against Katie’s collar bone and slowly and purposefully slid her hand upward until it was firmly wrapped around Katie’s throat.  She applied pressure firmly and gently, restricting her air, sensually choking her.  It wasn’t vicious or mean-spirited, it was a symbolic gesture declaring, “You might not have any care or concern for me, I but control you, I know you. I see through your flimsy fa├žade of conservatism to who you really are and what you are is an empty, soulless woman who will use anyone or anything to get what you want.”  Trenae squeezed harder.  Katie remained stoic but her eyes told a different story.  She was terrified, not of getting choked but of who and what she really was. 

Max backed away slowly, watching the two women, Katie never took her eyes off him.  Attired only in black boxer briefs, the evidence of his arousal was clear to see, even in the dimly lit room.  Trenae squeezed harder still.  Katie’s eyes started to dart around the room.  She wasn’t sure what the rules of this game were supposed to be but she didn’t want to show any fear to Max.  It was like a game of chicken except Katie was the only player.  Max wanted to see when she would break, when she would start to panic.  Lack of control was killing her much more so than lack of oxygen and she caved to the pressure.  Desperately grabbing, she tried to pry Trenae’s fingers from their grip on her esophagus but they wouldn’t budge. 

“You cheating, lying, amoral, disgusting whore!”  In her haze of confusion, Katie almost couldn’t tell where the words were coming from.  For a split second she thought she might have said them herself.  Without warning, Trenae loosened the grasp around Katie’s neck and she fell to the floor crying, a mass of whimpering flesh.  This wasn’t arousing to her anymore.  She wanted to go home, to go back to her reality where she never had to think about anything. 

Trenae walked over to the bed, kneeled on the foot of it, and waved her finger for Max to come to her.  He was magnetically drawn to her and stepped over Katie like she wasn’t even there.  He put his hands on her waist and they kissed, this time, more fevered and passionate.  Max kissed the nape of her neck and Trenae looked directly at Katie and silently mouthed the words, “Sweetie, you will NEVER have this.”  Throwing her head back, she luxuriated in the kiss.  Katie looked on in horror.  She knew what was going to happen.  She wanted it to stop but she knew better than to say anything.  In silence on the floor, half naked and her pussy wet, she watched as the pair began to make love in front of her very eyes.

This was her torture, this was her punishment.  She was going to have to be forced to witness what was unobtainable in her life: true passion, true love.  She would much rather be beaten and whipped and made to do unspeakable acts of depravity rather than to see the object of her lust and passion completely consumed by the charms of another woman, a woman with whom she couldn’t even pretend to feel some connection.  In a move that Katie thought only happened in the movies, Max started to sing to Trenae, really sing.  He was serenading her and doing it extremely well.  She never knew Max could sing let alone so well.  “Like sweet morning dew, I took one look at you, and it was plain to see, you were my destiny.”

Katie’s eyes rolled around in complete disgust.  She was sickened by the entire scene.  She was mumbling under her breath, “This fucking sucks.  Who the hell does that in real life?  Who the hell sings when they are having sex?”  What she longed for was for him to sing to her that way.  What she wanted to say was, “How can he be so intelligent, articulate, built, attractive, sexy, and talented in one package?”  What she REALLY meant was, “How can ‘a Black’ be all those things?”  She didn’t even want to give him the credit of calling him a Black man; to her he was a big black cock and HER plaything and little more, something that she used to fulfill her desires.  Even in this supposedly “post-racial” society, she still expected Black men to be thugs and savages even if her politically-correct filter said otherwise in public.  She was okay when she thought of him being little more than a savage Mandingo to fuck her.  She knew he was educated and she was okay with him being good at basketball and rapping or something like that but the tenderness and affection he was showing Trenae made her blood boil because he had never once shown her anything of the sort.  

Trenae and Max completely forgot that Katie was there and focused on each other.  Max picked up Trenae and laid her on the bed.  Making his way from her neck down her body, he licked, sucked and kissed every inch of her beautiful, brown skin.  He removed her bra and freed her succulent and heavy breasts.  Trenae’s nipples were as hard as tiny pebbles and stuck up in the air waiting to be sucked.  He sucked and bit her nipples, going back and forth from one to the other, causing her to moan and grab the back of his head.  It was clear she enjoyed the treatment because she was humping her pussy against Max’s thigh, deriving even more pleasure and stimulation during his foreplay.  She wrapped her legs around his back and directed him to stay there, to feast on her tits.  He had other plans.  Max had a map and the next stop on her body he was going to pleasure was her belly.  He tongue fucked her navel kissed his way down to her pantyline and left a trail of soft kisses all the way back up to her tummy. 

Trenae loved foreplay as much as the next woman but she was so turned on by the prospect of being watched, of showing the white women cowering on the floor across the room what it was like when a woman is savagely fucked by a man who loves her without being degraded and humiliated, she didn’t want to wait.  She wanted to show her what making love looked like when it was hot and sweaty and sticky and fevered.  She wanted to hurry things along a bit so she thought she would try a little bit of encouragement.  “Baby, I need you inside me right now.  I’m so desperate for you to give me every single inch of that dick.  Come on, feel my pussy, see how I’ve soaked my panties through?  Stick your fingers in there.  Oooooh, shit, that feels so good when you do that.  You want that don’t you?  I know you do.  I know you love the way my pussy feels.  Come on, boo, fuck me.” 

Max hadn’t even thought about their little voyeur nor was he paying attention to what Trenae was saying, at least not completely.  All he was concerned about was how many times he could make his lady cum before he did and he had a game plan and he wasn’t going to deviate from it.  Max spread her legs to tenderly kiss the warm insides of her thighs.  He licked the juncture where her legs joined her body and he could feel how soaking wet her panties had become.  Trenae had given up trying to convince him to penetrate her at that point and she was trying to make herself cum by sticking her hand in her panties and rubbing her clit.  Max wanted no part in that and he held her hands by her sides as he blew hot breath on her mound and licked the wetness through her panties.  He made her cry out and try to fuck his face but he still had an agenda.  He moved on. 

Max was a foot man and he was turned on by Trenae’s sexy feet.  There was no way he was going to miss out on kissing, licking, and sucking her little toes or feeling them rubbed on his erection.  He had a lot of ground to cover in the interim, however.  After taking a painstakingly long time to kiss his way down her legs, he started out by giving her a little foot massage.  Her perfectly pedicured little coral-colored tootsies looked like candy to him.  He placed her foot against his lips and the sexy little part of her toes between the tips and where they joined her foot.  He inhaled deeply and adjusted his dick because a true foot lover knows that the hint of foot aroma is incredibly arousing.  Slowly, seductively, he put all ten of her toes in his mouth one at a time and sucked softly, tickling her and driving her crazy.    He stood up momentarily and pulled down his briefs and stroked his now leaking dick just a little to take the edge off.  Trenae was not just a spectator during all of this, she was caressing her body, playing with her nipples; she was rubbing her fingers in the slippery folds of her pussy and teasing herself. 

The temperature in the room was climbing from the sexual heat.  It was time to move on and this time, Max made his way up the back of her body with his mouth.  Sucking the backs of her knees caused Trenae to giggle uncontrollably.  He left trails of wet kisses all the way up the backs of her thighs.  Sliding off her panties, he spread the cheeks of her ass and ran his tongue deep in the crevice.  Trenae loved the feel of his tongue there and thrust her hips up in the air.  “Now, that’s an ass,” Max proclaimed as he playfully spanked it and licked her pussy from behind.  He didn’t spend too much time there and his hands deeply kneaded the tension in her back muscles away as he ended up where he started, kissing and sucking her gorgeous neck. 

Trenae had had just about enough of all the teasing and she instructed Max rather firmly, “Roll over!”  On his back, his feet on the floor, Trenae climbed on top of Max’s face and planted her pussy squarely on his mouth.  His arms circled around her hips and his tongue went into action.  Trenae rode him hard.  She held on to the headboard and was grunting and groaning as she maneuvered her clit back and forth across his tongue and had him lick her from front to back.  Her juices coated his face and Max didn’t want to come up for air.  One thing was for sure, Trenae wanted to cum and that she did, exploding with force as Max nursed her clit between his lips. 

Not missing a beat, she managed to steady herself and position herself between Max’s legs kneeling on the floor.  It was her turn to give pleasure with her mouth and that she did.  Trenae had skills.  She grabbed the thickness of Max’s dick and used her tongue to work him into a state of arousal like Katie had never seen before.  There was no gagging and spit flying everywhere; she simply used her tongue and lips to lick and suck to near completion.  Every time she could tell he was getting closer, she would stop, give him a minute to catch his breath and then she would start again.  Every time she did, Max got more and more frantic, desperate to cum, pleading with her. “Please baby, let me fuck you.  Come on, I give. I want to feel your wet walls wrapped around my hard shaft. Let me shoot this hot nut I have been saving just for you deep inside you.”

The couple was at their limit for teasing and foreplay and Trenae climbed on top of Max and slid her tight pussy down on him slowly, getting used to his thickness and his length.    The three of them gasped audibly and in unison.  Katie was in the corner of the room, masturbating furiously.  She didn’t want to be turned on but she was.  She had her legs up in the air and spread obscenely and she was ramming three fingers in and out of her horny cunt furiously while her other hand groped and pinched her nipple.  The pair didn’t even notice.  Trenae placed her hands on Max’s chocolate brown chest and worked her ass like only a sista could do.  She hadn’t even worked her magic a full three minutes before Max had to grab her hips and stop her or he was going to explode before she could have another orgasm. 

Flipping her over and positioning her ass high in the air, he rubbed the tip of his dick on her wet slit.  “What are you waiting for lover,” Trenae asked as she looked over her shoulder and tempted him to drive it home.  And that’s what he did.  Reaching around, he fingered her clit and worked up a steady rhythm.  It wasn’t fast and furious, it wasn’t slow either.  He had their special pace, one that drove both of them crazy while lingering just this side of ecstasy.  Trenae’s moans turned to screams of passion her words were frenzied and incoherent.  The smell of sweat and pussy and sex filled the room.  Max was seconds away from his nut and he flipped her over on her back, threw her legs up in the air and drove it home, causing both of them to cry out.  He pressed their bodies together and kissed her deeply, her air filling his lungs.  Over and over he pumped his hard dick in her and she took it all.  Trenae came first, wrapping her legs around him and shaking uncontrollably and Max pumped her full of his semen.  Worn out, he fell on the bed next to her and cradled her to his chest and kissed her forehead gently again.  As their breathing calmed down, the barely detectable sounds of Katie sobbing in the corner could just be heard. 

All three dressed without saying much.  Max and Trenae were basking in the afterglow and Katie didn’t know what to say.  It was the early morning hours and Katie hoped she could sneak in the house without waking up the kids.  Max and Trenae held hands on the way back to the parking lot and spoke mostly of relationship stuff, work stuff, plans they had to meet up with friends, and commitments that had with each other’s family.  Katie sat in the back seat this time and wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what to say.  As they pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the truck, she mustered up the courage to laugh nervously and say, “Hey! You guys want to know something?  That was fun.  If you want to do it again, where you know, you can do stuff to me, I would be open for it.  I would even, you know, do stuff to her,” nodding her head in the general direction of Trenae. 

Max responded.  “Katie, if you even make an attempt to contact me again I will be forced to play hardball with you and you really, really don’t want me to do that.” 

“Oh, yeah, I totally understand,” she said, “I got it.  No problem.  I was just saying, you know.”  She slammed the door to his truck hard, wanting to go out in a flourish and show her passive aggressive rage and displeasure.  This time, he didn’t wait to see if she was in her car safely and they pulled off into the night.  Katie got in her car and sat there for a minute, still horny and largely unsatisfied, wondering how long she should wait before she contacted Max again. 

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved