Sweet to Eat

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Worship (Part 3)

Steven fucked up.  He had destroyed his chances with the one and only true Black Goddess whom he’d ever encountered.  Apparently, he had gotten in his disturbed mind that I was blackmailing him when nothing could be further from the truth.  Well, not only that, but he had the audacity, the unmitigated nerve to accuse me of things so absurd, so unfathomable to any sane mind, that he offended me in ways not many subs had ever had the occasion or balls to do. 

Steven’s actions made him re-evaluate his own twisted kinks.  It was a painful and shameful look in the mirror for him.  He had to acknowledge, if only to himself, that his desires were pathological.  His need for exposure, his fantasies of being “outted”, and blackmailed, even his obsession with shallow, materialistic women was indeed sick.  He invited women to extort him, he wanted his friends and family to know of his perversions.  He got off on the idea of posting humiliating videos of himself doing repulsive things and sending them out to people with his face showing boldly.  At the same time, he wanted to pretend to be a victim, to be faultless in his own financial and social demise.  At the end of the day, he loved all of it.  He masturbated furiously to the actual females who were doing all the things he had falsely accused me of doing.  He sent them money, bought their rank undergarments, he continued to make videos all while pulling his worthless cock and checking his account balances, fantasizing that they said $0.00.  In the light of day, when he was out and about among normal, reasonable people, he felt profoundly ashamed of himself.  He waited for the confrontation he knew would come, someone in his family, his superior at work wanting to speak to him and question him about his bizarre proclivities.  In the privacy of his own home, in front of his computer however, he had no such qualms.  He feverishly stroked his tiny, limp cock to the childish insults of materialistic women who needed him to pay their bills and to their empty threats to expose him as he made endless paypal transactions and ebanned purchases. 

Everything would have been fine; Steven wouldn’t have had a problem in the world if there wasn’t that pesky little blog that he’d asked me to create.  He was obsessed with going to the blog, he repeatedly Googled his name to see the number one result was The Financial Demise of Werner Steven Mueller.  It fucked with him, fucked with his mind.  None of his other exploits showed up so blatantly.  That blog was the bane of his existence.  He needed it to go away and go away soon.  Its mere presence was symbolic of his kinks trespassing into his real life. 

Knowing that I was truly above being one of the money hungry, greedy bitches he usually plays with, thinking that he could appeal to my rational, benevolent self, Steven approached me cautiously.  He sent me an email with no apology, no tone of contrition or hint of regret for his previous foul behavior, asking me how much it would cost to completely delete the blog.  I responded simply, without any fanfare or drama, $20,000 in cash, hand delivered to me in Philadelphia.  True to his nature, Steven responded by trying to negotiate, said he couldn’t afford that much, he even tried to get me to dominate him in exchange for the amount.  After several days without a response from me, he relented and agreed to meet me at the corner of N. 38^th and Parrish Streets on Sunday morning, 11 am, and I reminded him that the money had to be in cash. 

Steven, oblivious to the workings of real Black America, showed up on time, thinking we would make the exchange at a small coffee shop or café.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said 50 years ago that the most segregated hour in America was 11 am on a Sunday morning and nothing had changed in half a century.  Wearing jeans and a button down, Steven approached me cautiously as he observed all the church goers, dressed in their Sunday finest, assembling to praise God.  I had donned my best Sunday-go-to-meeting black suit, silk stockings, patent leather pumps, extended my white cotton gloved hand and peered from under my veiled black hat.  “Steven, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” 

“Uhmmm, yeah,” he looked around nervously and said, “I have the money, can we just get this over with?” 

“Oh, goodness, Steven, what’s the rush?  Let’s go inside, shall we?” One of the ushers, a strikingly gorgeous Black man with an imposing figure held the door for us and wished us a pleasant good morning.  Not wanting to make too much of a scene and slightly intimidated by the whole situation, he stepped inside.  Never in his life had he felt so out of place.  His was the only white face in the sanctuary.  I escorted him to the very front of the church.  He stood speechless as he stared up at the 40 ft. stained glass representation of Jesus, depicted as he truly was, a Black man with hair of wool.  Steven was angry, outraged; it was an offense to his every sensibility to see a Black man depicted as his lord and Savior.  Every cell in his body was filled with hatred for me.  He started to tell me to fuck off but every head turned just as he began to raise his voice.  The words stuck in his throat before he could get out a complete sentence and he quietly slid into the pew next to me. 

Glancing around at all the beautiful people, happily married couples, single women, all reserved and devout, Steven fantasized about each and every one of them humiliating him sexually.  He waited for the shouting and speaking in tongues and running up and down the aisles he stereotypically expected but it never came.  The Men’s Choir sang some spirited gospel songs and everyone stood and clapped and praised the lord but the entire experience was more sophisticated than savage.  He fidgeted as I ignored him, trying to whisper to me that he needed to go, that he had other plans.  He didn’t listen to a word of the sermon, he was more concerned with deviant thoughts of being gangbanged, kicked, stomped, and used in this holy place of worship. 

There was a call to the altar for prayer and I whispered sweetly in Steven’s ear that he needed to confess his sins.  He swallowed hard and firmly said no, all eyes would be on him and that was not arousing for him.  He didn’t want to play the game my way, he wanted me to conform to his desires; he wanted me to be like the other classless whores he dealt with.  I discretely signaled for my friend, the usher, to escort Steven to the altar.  He knelt before Black Jesus and I knelt beside him.  “That’s it Steven, pray to Black Jesus, confess your sins.  Tell him what a wretched white heathen you are.  Pray for salvation to Black God, Steven.”  He knelt, with his hands clasped as in prayer but his knuckles were white as he wanted nothing more than to strike me, to shut me up.  

 I leaned in closer and whispered more softly, “Louder bitch, let everyone know you are a sinner, tell them that you accept Black Jesus as your personal lord and savior, that you know he bled and died on the cross for your filthy, nasty sins.  Don’t you want to be washed in the blood of Holy Black Jesus?”  Tears streamed down his face, his knees ached, rage consumed him.  The congregation clapped, praised God, and cheered for his salvation.  The Pastor prayed, his righteous words punctuated with the staccato of the organ.  They passed the collection plate and whispered softly, “Every penny of it, Steven, I want you to put every single dollar in that collection plate.”  His hands trembled as he reached for the envelope in his back jeans pocket and he placed it on the pile of fives, tens, and twenties in the red-velvet-lined brass plate.   He closed his eyes and begged God for forgiveness, to absolve him of his sins, to release him the sexual sickness that consumed him, that prevented him from forming any sort of real, substantial relationship.  He prayed to be normal.  As much as he pretended to be happy as a freak, he deeply wanted to be loved, accepted, and respected by a woman who would love him for something other than his money.  It had been more than 30 years that he had even allowed himself to think such thoughts.  He prayed to the image of a Black man, on his knees, worshipping him, feeling truly worthless and inferior.  When he opened his eyes, I was gone.

He checked the internet the next day, and true to my word, the blog was gone.  He sent me an email, this time with notable humility and respect.  “Mistress, I bow to your will.  I’ve never encountered anyone like you before and I acknowledge and respect that you are nothing less than a true Goddess.  You are my religion and I’m willing to do things your way.  All that I am, all that I have is yours.” 

Copyright 2010 AfroerotiK  All Rights Reserved

Our First Place

We put the key in the door of our first home and crossed the threshold hand in hand. We had just come from the closing and the house was officially ours, ALL 2,200 square feet of mid-century Ranch amortized at 6.34% for the next 30 years of it. For a couple of dykes, buying a house together is the closest sort of commitment you can get to getting married. Sabrina was feeling sentimental, going through each room and dreaming out loud of what our lives were going to be like; the Virgo in me was feeling overwhelmed and anxious at the amount of unpacking we had to do just to get to our toothbrushes, towels, and dishes.

I have to confess, when I was watching her unpack, with her red and white scarf tied around her head and her favorite t-shirt with a big ole rainbow on it, I had to marvel at her beauty, both inside and out. She was so calm, so grounding for me. She’d made coming out to my family not easy, but tolerable. She made all the gross and offensive comments from men who thought they could “change me with their super dicks” bearable. She just fits me perfectly in every way. We’ve been together for four years. That’s equivalent to 16 heterosexual years for a lesbian couple and we’ve been together longer than all of our gay friends, both male and female, have ever been in a relationship combined.

I’d just about finished getting the bed frame up when I heard our doorbell ring for the first time. I ran downstairs to see who it could be and I saw Sabrina paying a delivery guy for some takeout food. She’d set up a makeshift table in the living room by taking one of our moving boxes and putting a sheet over it and she decorated it with flowers from our garden in a jar from the garage and some candles she got from who knows where. “Come and get it,” she said, as we sat down on the floor to dine on some Chinese food on the first night of the rest of our lives together.

I was overwhelmed with the feelings of love I had for this woman. “You know, I adore you, right?”

She looked at me and half-laughed. “Of course I do. And I love you too.”

“No,” I said, “I adore you. You mean the world to me. I don’t even want to think what my life would be like without you. I can’t even imagine who I would be without you.” I started to get really emotional and the words got choked up in my throat. She crawled over to my side and I put my head on her shoulder. She kissed the top of my forehead and I reached up to kiss her. Her tongue found mine and we shared an intimate kiss that grew more passionate with each passing tick of the clock. I lay back on the living room floor and she climbed on top of me, pressing her body into mine.

“Mmmm, we don’t have any curtains up yet . . . . we should . .. Stop,” I managed to say.
True to her rebellious nature, she said, “I don’t give a fuck. This is OUR house,” with heavy emphasis on the word our, and if I want to make love to my wife, and people want to watch, then so fucking be it.” With that, she slid her hand between my legs and pressed her palm against my mound. My body responded before my common sense could and I was pulling her t-shirt over her head while she was freeing me from the restrictions of my clothing.

We made love, on the floor, the very first night in our brand new home. Reclining back on an overstuffed pillow, I spread my legs and she made a dessert out of my breasts, licking and sucking my hardened nipples until I was begging her to go down on me. She kissed her way down my stomach and spread my legs. Taking her fingers, she spread the lips of my pussy and softly, gently, licked my clit until I was squirming and moaning and holding her mouth to my wet slit, wrapping my legs around her head and demanding that she let me cum in her mouth. She worked her tongue up inside me and her fingers found my asshole. I was cursing and screaming and telling her how good she made me feel and thankful we weren’t in our old, tiny one bedroom apartment with thin walls.


I turned over and got up on my knees and she alternated between driving her tongue in my pussy and my ass, causing me to reach back and spread my asscheeks wider so she could do her magic. She licked me from my clit to my spine and back again and I was grinding my pussy all over her face. She playfully slapped my ass and warned me that if I didn’t hold still that she was going to stop. Like hell she was going to stop. She wanted my cum and she wasn’t going to stop until I was flowing all over her.

She did a Bruce Lee sort of move and flipped around until her pussy was against mine. I could feel the heat of her warm cunt and the wetness of her slippery folds. She scissored her legs with mine and started bumping and grinding away, clit to clit. It was like our pussies were French kissing. I could feel the first signs of my orgasm approaching and I begged her to stop. I wanted to make love to her, to eat her, to enjoy every inch of her body first. She didn’t listen and she kept taunting me, teasing me, telling me to cum. “Give me that cum baby. Bathe me in your sweet honey. That’s it, squirt all over Mami. Oh yeah, baby, fuck me with that hard clit of yours. “

That sent me over the edge and I exploded. We curled up in each other’s arms and lay there for a while, just basking in the glow. I stroked her hair and intertwined my brown fingers with hers. She said, “We’ve christened one room, just think, we have six more to go.”

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

At Last

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2010 Scottie Lowe All Rights Reserved

Taking it to the Hole

“Let’s head over to West 4th for a pickup game, whadda ya say?” It was a hot summer New York night, the kind where it doesn’t dip below 80 degrees and anyone and everyone is out and about, looking for something to do. The idea sounded like a great one to Ernesto; his friends, however, weren’t as enthusiastic.

“Whadda ya fucking crazy? It’s fucking hot as fuck. What the fuck do I want to fucking go all the way to fucking Manhattan for a fucking game of fucking basketball to further sweat my big, hairy fucking balls off at 10 o’clock at fucking night? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ernesto’s cousin Vinny had the vocabulary of a Soprano and the basketball skills of a third grade girl so there was no way in hell he was gonna go anywhere to play basketball at any time. He needed to play it off so he went on and on about how hot it was and about how it was too far to travel. The rest of the gang; Tony A., Tony M., and Joey, weren’t the worst basketball players in the world but they certainly knew enough to know that if they were going to go to W.4th Street for a pickup game, they would get spanked. They all moaned about how hot it was and dismissed the idea.

Ernesto couldn’t be dissuaded so easily. It was a hot Saturday night and he knew the courts would be packed. He needed to go. He just couldn’t see himself hanging out in the neighborhood, drinking 40s out of a brown paper bag, talking about bangin’ girls, listening to Tupac, and bitching about over how hard it is to be a white man in today’s society. Ernesto was different. Born in Tuscany, he’d moved to Brooklyn when he was 11 to live with his aunt and uncle when his parents died in a car crash. Twenty years later, he had lost his foreign accent but never quite acquired a New York one either. He stood out like a sore thumb in so many ways. He was the most worldly of the group always looking to experience new adventures, he’d even gone to out of state for college. Most of the guys around the way had never gotten past high school, let alone moved out of state. Truth be told, a few had never even been to the Bronx. He had a great job in Manhattan as a massage therapist; his friends thought that was some fairy shit. It was okay when his clients were hot chicks but they were disgusted by the idea of him rubbing on some sweaty dude. Ernesto even looked different. His complexion was naturally darker, his jet black hair just touched his shoulders, steel gray eyes, and a 6’2” body he worked on religiously all worked together to make him look like a Calvin Klein model. Most of his buddies stood about 5’10” with short hair and were getting beer bellies in their 30s.

For all of their differences, Ernesto was accepted and loved in the community like he was no different at all. And he loved his family and his friends. They had taken care of him when he was at his lowest, most lonely point. While most people anticipated he would have gotten an apartment in Manhattan, Ernesto stayed in the neighborhood to help take care of his grandmother who had come from Italy 10 years ago because she was aging. His aunt and uncle both worked graveyard and didn’t have the time to care for her in the evenings and Vinny and Theresa, his other cousin, only knew how to curse in Italian so they couldn’t really communicate well with her. Ernesto loved his family and would do anything for them so leaving Brooklyn, leaving Carnasie, was really out of the question.

“I’ll check you guys later, I’m heading to the city to play some ball.” Nobody was shocked and they barely looked up as Ernesto grabbed his gym bag and headed for the subway. He plopped down on the cool seat and pulled out the book he’d been reading, a collection of works by James Baldwin. He was fascinated by the social commentary and the descriptions of racism that peppered the dialogue about being a Black gay man in America. Being a gay man himself, a closeted gay man, he connected with the words, he connected with the struggle and the rage. His friends, even though he had sucked off most of them when they were younger, including his cousin, were as homophobic as they come. They had to be. It was part and parcel for the good fella’s persona that they had to carry off. It never occurred to them that Ernesto could be gay because he was masculine, athletic, and he had women swooning over him every time he walked in a room. The stuff that happened when they were younger was just boys being boys, and they would never admit it to anyone the experimentation they had done as kids so his secret was pretty safe.

As he emerged from the bowels of the train system, into the humid night air of Greenwich Village, except for the fact that it was dark, it could have been 11:00 in the afternoon instead of 11:00 at night. The streets were bustling with activity, packed with people out doing anything and everything you could think of. He made his way to the courts and just watched the first two games. Ever since he could remember, he’d loved Black men. As cliché as it sounds, after his first Black lover, he had no desire to be with another white man again so the old “once you go black” adage was true in his case. For the better part of 7 years he’d dated Black men exclusively. Sitting there, seeing all of those toned and muscled bodies, gave him an even further appreciation of the Black male form. It wasn’t a lustful appreciation, well, at least not in the overtly sexual sense. It was a profound and deep respect for not just their physical bodies, but for the struggle they endured that he read about in the pages of his book.

There’s an unspoken code that says that white boys who hang out on basketball courts are looking to get served so people were always looking to school them and make sure they play. Three on three, half court, to 21, shirt vs. skins. Ernesto was shirts and he was playing the team who had just won the last game. Skins got the ball first and scored three points right off the bat. He was guarding a guy who had dominated the previous game and he knew he had to be tired so he was body-checking and going toe to toe under the rim. They were the same height, even the same body type, but his opponent was the color of caramel with a shiny bald head. It was a queer guy’s heaven, being able to publicly run his hands over that smooth flesh, the rippling muscles, sweaty, hard thighs pressed against his own. It was all about the game for Ernesto and he played hard, making sure everyone knew he was there to ball. The guy Ernesto was guarding gave him an elbow and sent him to the ground. There ain’t no fouls in street ball so he was right back up and in the game; he didn’t miss a beat. He got the ball and showed he had some skills. The other part of the unspoken code is, that when a white boy has skills on the court, he becomes the unofficial court favorite, getting his own cheering squad on the sidelines n’ everything.

The score was 19 to 20 with the skins leading and the shirts had the ball. Dude was blocking him, checking him hard, when Ernesto got the ball in the paint. He pivoted and -- whoosh, nothing but net. In the split second right before the shot, he thought . . . maybe he was mistaken, but he could have sworn he felt ole boy grabbing for his cock. Not just body contact that happens during the course of a game, but actually palming his crotch, almost caressing it. It happened so quickly and the score was tied so he couldn’t dwell on it. The two adversaries stood toe to toe, making intense eye contact. The court lights made every drop of sweat glisten on his opponent’s shirtless body. One of the other skins sank the final shot ending the game. The entire court erupted in cheers and back-slapping and kudos about the great game.

Ernesto sat on the bench and pulled out his towel. His book was on the top of the bag so he sat it next to him. While he was toweling off and catching his breath, drinking a little Gatorade, he saw a hand reaching out to him.

“Good game man, I’m impressed.”

He extended his hand and looked up, “Yeah, congratulations, great game,” Ernesto replied, still trying to catch his breath.

“Name’s Flex. Anytime you want to play a little game of pick up, let me know, I’d love to have you on my team.” He smiled a gorgeous smile and Ernesto looked up and then down, his eyes resting on the crotch directly eye level in front of him.

“Your mom named you Flex,” Ernesto asked, trying to sound aloof but still out of breath and doing his best not to show it.

“My pops named me Eugene, Jr. but I’ll beat somebody’s ass if they call me that. So it’s Flex.” They both laughed.

“Yeah, my name is Ernesto and we got problems if anyone calls me Ernie, so I’m really feeling you. Here have a seat.” He moved his book out the way and slid down a half a foot to let Flex sit down next to him. They watched a little bit of the next game in silence.

“You from around here,” Flex asked?

“Nah, I live in Brooklyn,”

“Oh, I see.”

That sat in silence some more, watching the game and neither one of them willing to address what had happened on the court. Ernesto figured he’d been mistaken. It was a physical game and maybe Flex didn’t know he was grabbing his cock. Maybe he thought it was his arm or something. That had to be it.

“”Is this your book? Man, I love James Baldwin. ‘I am what time, circumstance, and history, have made of me, certainly, but I am also, much more than that.’ Now that some deep shit right there.” Just then, it was as if the wall of ice had been broken. The two men started talking and sharing and letting down their guards. They had a connection more than sports and it was electric. “Are you busy right now, I mean, are you in a rush to head back to Brooklyn, because I only live around the corner from here. We can go to my place and hang out if you want. I’m not a serial killer . . . any more, I promise.” They both laughed and Flex flashed that gorgeous smile again and before Ernesto knew what was happening, they were walking towards 10th street and in a cute little studio apartment. Flex was a graphic designer for an advertising firm and had moved from his own roots in Queens to his little apartment 7 years ago.

Once inside the apartment, the only place to sit comfortably was the futon. Ernesto looked uncomfortable. He didn’t want to put his smelly, sweaty ass on the place where Flex slept and sat on a daily basis. He was really feeling this guy and wanted to be invited back and he didn’t think that would make such a great first impression to leave his scent, so to speak, so he was trying to figure out how he could sit on the floor without looking like a dork.

Flex came to the rescue before he could even process the thought completely in his head. “Hey, it’s pretty hot out there; you can take a shower if you want to cool off. Guests first. Here’s a towel and everything’s in the bathroom you should need.” Ernesto dropped his gym bag by the door inside in the small bathroom. He took off his sweaty clothes and stepped in the shower, feeling the warm water wash away the layer of sweat. Shutting his eyes, he thought back to the court. Had he gotten his signals mixed? Maybe Flex was just a nice guy who wanted to hang out; maybe he happened to like James Baldwin because he was a great writer, not because he was a great gay Black writer. Maybe that hand caressing his cock wasn’t really caressing it; maybe it was just part of the game, maybe to make him miss his shot. Whatever it was, Ernesto was deep in thought, remembering the feel of Flex’s hand on his cock, the same cock that he had in his hand now and was stroking, thinking about his sexy, sweaty new friend.

He shut his eyes tightly and started thinking all sorts of nasty thoughts, jerking off and fantasizing. A knock at the door shocked him back to reality.

“Hey, don’t mean to interrupt or anything,” Flex yelled through the door, but do you want something to drink? A martini, a beer, a glass of wine, water, Kool Aid. Anything? Iced Tea, maybe?”

“A beer’s cool, thanks,” he yelled back and quickly turned off the water to dry off. Ernesto wasn’t trying to put the same stinky clothes back on so he tied the towel around his waist and headed out to see if Flex had anything he could put on. His cock was still hard but he pushed it down and tried to will it to stay soft.

That thought lasted an entire 1.5 seconds because when he opened the bathroom door, he saw Flex, standing naked in front of the closet, grabbing for a towel to put around him. “Hey, how was the shower?” He turned, wrapped the towel around himself and, not waiting for an answer, he said, “Your beer is on the coffee table, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back, I need to take a shower myself.”

Ernesto was impressed with the tiny apartment. Flex’s music collection was eclectic but mostly all Black: jazz, blues, R&B, hip hop, and some gospel. The art on the walls was amazing and inspecting further, he saw that most were signed with the name Flex. Because the place was so small, every square inch of space was utilized. Oddly enough, the place didn’t look cluttered at all; it might have been small on space but it was big on style. The timer on the oven went off and Flex was still in the shower so he decided to take out whatever was in there. Opening the oven door, a fantastic aroma came wafting out. He pulled out the dish and it was some sort of dip that had been heated to go with the tri colored chips that had been put out on a platter. Ernesto was blown away. “This guy can play ball, he can quote James Baldwin, he has a great apartment, he’s creative, he can cook, and he’s sexy as hell. Damn, I think I just met my future husband,” he said under his breath.

“What did you say? Oh good, I’m glad you pulled that out. Thanks.” Flex looked even more amazing fresh from the shower with his towel around his waist. Ernesto didn’t bother answering his question and instead took the tray and set it on the coffee table while Flex was opening up the futon. “Here, this will be more comfortable. Have a seat, take a load off.”

The two men lounged on the futon, talking about everything under the sun, sharing details about their lives, drinking beer, listening to music, and eating. It was soon very apparent that Flex was gay, out, and very confident in his sexuality, so much so, he didn’t even make it an issue. Because Ernesto had been ruled by his hidden identity, everything had more impact on him, he had to analyze and dissect everything as if there was a hidden meaning behind it. When Flex offered to let him spend the night, he didn’t know if it was a sexual invitation or not; he didn’t know how to respond.

Flex could sense his hesitation and he left the question open for him to decide. He got up, turned off all the lights, lit a few candles and came back, this time, taking off his towel and letting it fall to the floor. He stood there for a few seconds, letting his new friend take everything in. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” Ernesto shook his head but didn’t say a word. He climbed back on the futon, this time even closer. His heart started beating faster, the blood started pumping in his veins; he was being seduced. Flex reached out to kiss him softly; Ernesto forgot to close his eyes; he wanted to see everything. The kiss was soft and gentle and in many ways atypical of most of kisses Ernesto had ever shared with someone. Usually the men he was with were closeted, intent on proving their masculinity, on dominating the proverbial white boi behind closed doors, playing up the thug/Mandingo role. He let his eyes close gently, experiencing the kiss with the rest of his senses. He could smell the clean scent of Flex’s skin, still fresh from the shower; he could feel the softness of his lips against his own. He could taste his tongue gently exploring his mouth and he could hear the soft moan escape from his own lips in awe of the sensations he was feeling.

“Okay, Mr. Massage therapist,” Flex said, “let me check out some of your magic,” as he pulled away from the sensual kiss. He stretched out on his stomach, adding, “Let’s see if you can work out some of this tension I have in my shoulders.”

Ernesto said, “Hold on, let me get my bag.” He returned a few seconds later with a special blend of massage oil he used for work. This time, he also took off his towel and let it fall to the floor as well, exposing his cock that had been half hard since they left the courts. Flex didn’t even look, he had his head resting on his arms and his eyes closed, waiting for his massage. Ernesto straddled his legs and looked down at the gorgeous body he was about to caress. He warmed the oil on his hands and started at the shoulders, aroused by the contrast in skin colors. Flex let out a moan and shifted a little but he didn’t say a word. Working his way downwards, he found the spots that were tight and loosened them; he rubbed the sore muscles and left that smooth brown skin glowing in the candlelight. He worked his way further down, hesitating for a few moments before he started massaging the full, round ass cheeks of his new friend. Flex let out more of a moan and started grinding his hips, even adjusting himself to make his thickening tool more comfortable under him. Grabbing the bottle of oil, he drizzled it on his skin and started massaging those magnificent mounds of flesh. He wanted to stroke his own cock, now fully erect, but he didn’t, he was intent on doing a good job, better than he’d ever done before.

He worked his way down Flex’s thighs and even used a few reflexology techniques on his feet. “Here, do the fronts of my legs now, I’m sore from that workout you gave me earlier.” He turned over and Ernesto couldn’t move. Flex flashed that gorgeous smile yet again but that paled in comparison to the body of perfection before him. Shoulders that were broad leading down to muscular toned arms, a hairless, well-developed chest and six pack abs that looked like a washboard. His dick stood up straight and tall and his balls were resting on his thighs. Ernesto didn’t even want to look at the rest of him; he just wanted to drink in the beauty of that magnificent hard dick.

Flex teased him, stroking it casually with his other arm behind his head. “You like that? Go ahead, touch it.” He put his other arm behind his head and repeated, “Go ahead, it won’t bite.”

Ernesto swallowed hard and held the shaft in his hands. The heat from it was incredible and the thickness was impressive to say the least. He grabbed it at the base and brought his hand all the way to the top, twisting his hand just a bit for a little more stimulation. Flex moaned his approval and licked his lips. “Don’t stop,” was all he said. Putting more oil on his hands, Ernesto started stroking more, bringing him to full hardness, coaxing out precum from the head of that delicious piece of meat.

“Go ahead, suck it, you know you want to, suck my dick.” The confidence that oozed from Flex made the situation that much more intense, more erotic and Ernesto felt light headed. He wasn’t being rude or domineering, he was just sure of himself, uninhibited.

Ernesto positioned himself between Flex’s legs, stroking him some more, teasing him, and Flex spread his legs to accommodate him. Fingering his balls and holding them up, he started his mouth job there, licking and gently sucking his nuts. Rolling them around in his fingers, he was getting them wet with saliva and licking the sensitive sacks. Flex appreciated the attention to his balls and let him know how good it felt. “Oh shit, it’s been a long time since someone paid attention to my nuts like that. Damn, that feels so good. Ohhhh yeah.” He grabbed his knees, pulled them to his chest, giving Ernesto better access. Stopping momentarily to catch his breath, he put one testicle in his mouth and started flicking his tongue back and forth rapidly. Flex could barely breathe it felt so good. “Damn, if you suck my balls that good, I can’t even imagine how good it’s going to feel when you suck my dick and eat my ass.”

Anxious to get to both of those tasks, he said, “Which of those things would you prefer I do first?” Flex’s dick jumped at those words, his mind reeling with all the erotic possibilities.

Flex grabbed his dick at the base, tapping the head against Ernesto’s lips, teasing him. His instructions were clear. “Suck my dick.”

Not needing any more of an invitation, Ernesto set about his task. He replaced Flex’s hand with his own and started stroking it, using massage techniques to stimulate spots that would make Michelangelo's David squirm. Using his tongue, he began softly licking the head, swirling it around and flicking it gently at the hole. Flex moved his hands down to Ernesto’s head, but not to face fuck him or force him down on his swollen member, but to hold his hair out of the way in order to see the expert job he was doing. He licked up and down the sides, getting the shaft wet, running his tongue over every vein. Flex couldn’t help but show his appreciation by moaning. Lowering his mouth on that beautiful column of flesh, he took just half of it in his mouth. He started sucking it like a baby would suck a nipple making sure to grip the base of the cock firmly in his hand. He took his tongue and started swirling it around the head and shaft and increasing the suction on his sucking. Moving his hand away, he started bobbing up and down on the cock, taking it further and further into his mouth each time. He was getting it wetter and wetter, taking the head to the back of his throat. Flex could do nothing but grip the sheets for dear life and moan, “Holy fuck, damn, shit, that’s some good shit. Oh my god that feels so good.”

Just when he thought it couldn’t feel any better, Ernesto relaxed his throat muscles and let the head of Flex’s thick cock go several inches down. His lips could feel the tickle of his hair so he knew he had accomplished his mission of taking his full length. Then, he decided to perform his magic, he started bobbing up and down, from the head to the base, taking him deep in his throat every time. Spit was dripping down his balls and Flex was breathing so hard he thought he might hyperventilate.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. I can’t take much more of that. Damn, where did you . . . oh shit, you are going to make me cum before the party even starts.” Flex sat up a little bit and the look of sheer panic on Ernesto’s face was evident. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I just wanted to make you feel good, that’s all.” What he really wanted to say was, “I am used to guys using my mouth as many times as they want and I feel like I’ve failed if I didn’t make you cum.”

“You did make me feel good. Too good in fact, that was incredible. I just didn’t want to nut too soon. I like to make things last, go slow, you know.” He leaned over and kissed Ernesto again, as gently and as tenderly as before. Flex lay down on the bed, pulling Ernesto on top of him. Their kissing became more urgent, more passionate. Their tongues and lips were sucking and licking, their dicks were sensually rubbing against one another. Flex was caressing his hands along Ernesto’s spine, grabbing his ass, spreading his cheeks and teasing his hole with his fingertips.

Ready to take things to the next level, Ernesto said, “I want to feel your big cock in my ass. Fuck me.” Quickly repositioning himself, he crawled to the foot of the bed, got on his knees, and looked back over his shoulder and said in a lust-filled daze, “Fuck me.” He gripped the frame of the futon tightly, prepared to get his asshole savagely fucked but what he felt was entirely different than the searing pain/pleasure he was anxiously anticipating. “Nooo,” he hollered out.

Flex had repositioned himself as well. He was laying between Ernesto’s thighs underneath him and started sucking his dick. He wrapped his arms around Ernesto’s back and held him in place while he delivered some equally spectacular head to his new lover. Try as he might, Ernesto could not pull away and he felt his body succumb to the oral pleasures he was receiving. “No, no, no, no,” was all he could say. He thought to himself, “Can’t he tell that I’m a bottom whose only use and purpose is to serve and please?” Flex was fucking with the entire fabric of the universe. Ernesto was in the closet and he was sub to Black men, meaning he got his pleasure, alone, in the solitude of his bed in shame and in silence, long after the sexual experience was over, reliving it in his mind, jerking off to how he had pleased his lover, how he had been the perfect bottom, never expecting any pleasure in return whatsoever. Flex couldn’t hear any of that internal dialogue; all he was doing was focusing on tasting Ernesto’s dripping precum and returning the sensual favor.

The roles had changed again, this time with Ernesto trying to change the direction of things. He was able to pull away and this time he lay back on the bed and spread his legs, holding them up and pleading with his new lover to be fucked. “Ram that big dick in my pussy, fuck me hard. FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Come on, daddy, I need it so bad. Pound that meat in my slutty asshole and make me beg for more. I’ll be your little whore and your bitch daddy. Spit on that hole and make it nice and wet and shove that fucker in me and make it hurt.”

What happened next sent a chill of panic and pleasure through Ernesto’s body. Before he could realize what was happening, he felt the soft, gentle tongue of Flex exploring his hole, kissing it, licking it, tongue fucking it. He’d never felt that sensation before in his life. He grabbed his knees and pulled them closer to his chest, exposing his hole even more. All he could feel was the warm, wet sensation of that probing tongue and while his head wanted to say, “Stop.” His mouth was saying, “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good, don’t you dare stop.” As many times as he’d rimmed his lovers before, he never imagined that being on the receiving end could feel so damned sexy.

Flex, inspired by his lover’s words, didn’t disappoint. He licked and sucked and tongue fucked that hole, making it wet and ready. He got on his knees and aimed his bloated dick at that sexy hole. He teased it, teased him, by rubbing his head on that hole. Just before he pushed it in, he leaned down and whispered in Ernesto’s ear, “I want you so fucking bad.” They kissed again and Ernesto felt the head of Flex’s cock enter him. It was slow, steady, calculated and giving him pleasure in every cell of his fucking body. They were grunting and sweating again as the pace was slow and agonizingly sensual. Ernesto was being made love to and he knew it. He used his fingertips to softly explore Flex’s body while the two worked out a rhythm. Flex stroked, Ernesto squeezed, they fucked each other like gorgeous wild animals. The pounding became more intense, the stroking harder, deeper. Their moans grew wilder and their kissing more frenzied.

Flex pulled out and replaced his dick with his mouth, tonguing out that gaping, well-fucked hole. Ernesto made a sound that couldn’t be described. It was the singular most erotic, nasty, sensual feeling he’d had in his life. He grabbed his cock and started pounding it furiously, ready to spew his load then and there. Flex had other plans. Grabbing the bottle of massage oil, he flipped the top open and poured it on Ernesto’s prick. Ernesto held his breath, almost sure he knew what was going to happen next but terrified to think about it.

Flex moved into position and straddled his body. He could feel his cock rubbing between those full, round ass cheeks. In that moment, in his mind, Ernesto outted himself. He knew that he could no longer remain in the closet; he realized that he had handicapped himself by not being able to love whomever he wanted freely. He knew that he could not keep his secret any longer to anyone. In the darkness of his self-imposed closet, he was a submissive bottom. In the glaring light of his sexual freedom, he was a man who loved other men. The feel of his cock penetrating Flex’s tight asshole distracted his revelation. He felt the ring of Flex’s ass gripping every millimeter of his erection, squeezing it, riding it up and down. He looked up to see a look of sheer pleasure and ecstasy on his lover’s face, unencumbered by roles of top or bottom, just expressing his sexuality freely and genuinely.

With his ass settled down on Ernesto’s body, Flex started grinding and working his ass, using his ass muscles to milk that hot cock. Ernesto grabbed Flex’s hips and started thrusting, fucking him back, working his dick in harder, trying to go deeper. Flex started bouncing up and down on his dick, riding him hard. The look on his face was one of pure bliss. Ernesto shut his eyes and got lost in the sensation, “Oh Flex, I love . . . this, I love this.” He really wanted to say I love you. It was as if every fiber of his being wanted to profess his love for the man who was giving him pleasure in ways he’d never imagined.

Flex leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I love you too.” Both of them knew it was the lust talking, both of them knew intellectually that it couldn’t be love based on a couple of hours. Both of them knew that there was a connection there that would last well past a one night stand or casual sex as well.

Using his muscular arms, Ernesto flipped Flex over and placed him on his knees. Flex looked back and said, “Fuck me, ram that dick in me.” They both groaned as Ernesto pushed the entire length of his cock in that hot hole and started pounding away. It was pure, unbridled, sensuous fucking. He gripped that brown flesh and pulled him closer, he could see the contrast in skin color, the way Flex’s asshole would grip his cock as he slid in and out, faster, harder, deeper, faster still, harder, using every muscle in his body to give pleasure. He was hitting that hot spot, making Flex moan like a little bitch. The way his cock felt, surrounded by that hot, tight ring, he was cursing in a string of Italian and English and what seemed like another primal language only understood by lovers.

He could feel the cum about to explode from his cock. He began pistoning his cock in and out, harder than he thought he was capable of doing. Flex was taking it all and begging for more. He crushed Flex beneath him and used his ass to pump and pound, His fingers intertwined with Flex as he unloaded his cum deep inside him.

Six months later, Flex and Ernesto stood as a testament to true interracial gay love. They didn’t flaunt their sexuality but they certainly didn’t hide it either. All of his friends in Brooklyn disowned him, wouldn’t speak to him again. They would have been a little more tolerant of the idea if Flex hadn’t been Black but they couldn’t get it out of their minds that their friend, their paesano, was the bitch to a black guy. It was beyond their comprehension that the two were far more than top and bottom, they were reciprocal, versatile lovers with no roles or labels.

Copyright 2007 AfroerotiK

Satisfying my Sweet Tooth

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Here's my foray into the BDSM world for people of color

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