Blackmailed

Ronald Waterman had the perfect life. He was an annuities manager at an investment firm on Wall Street making more money than most people could ever dream of making. He’d made a few sound investments and done some trading that wasn’t really above board but he didn’t get caught and he made a bundle in the process so debt wasn’t a huge issue. He and his wife were empty nesters; their two boys were in college and staying relatively out of trouble, at least not the sort of trouble that would get them expelled. Considering they were spoiled rich kids who grew up on Long Island and didn’t know the meaning of the word restraint, Ron was pleased that he wasn’t paying for them to fail every class. One son was on a full scholarship for Lacrosse so his coach arranged to keep his grades up and the other son had been lucky enough in freshman year to find a girlfriend who didn’t mind writing all of his papers. That left he and his wife Tricia all alone in their 5200 sq. ft. custom built home.

They weren’t a particularly loving couple, it’s not like they fought excessively or argued, they got along pretty well in fact, but they weren’t particularly demonstrative towards one another either. Their friends and family would swear up and down that the couple loved each other, and in fact, they did, it was just a pseudo/sterile love that was based more on function than affection. Tricia was still “hot” according to Ron’s coworkers and friends. She stayed in the gym, had standing, weekly appointments in the salon to make sure her dark roots never showed, and her Barney’s credit card never went more than a few days without some activity. At the annual Christmas Party and cookout, she would wear something juuuuuust revealing enough to show off her salines but she was far from the only desperate housewife in attendance who had fake knockers. Ron and Tricia were taking advantage of their freedom and they had some friends with whom they would swap and swing and have hedonistic parties where they would all get high on X and screw until the wee morning hours. Ahhh, life in the burbs was good.

If there was ever a man who was the master of his own domain, it was Ron. He had money, power, freedom, and a wife most men would kill to have. So of course, he was miserable. He hated every second of his life and was consumed with thoughts of extremes. Ronald craved more. He wanted more money, more power, and more sex. Well, he didn’t want MORE sex; he wanted dirtier sex, perverse sex that bordered on the obscene. He was a sex addict, addicted to stimulation from any source: gay, straight, transgendered, alien, animal, vegetable, or mineral. At work, he would look at hardcore porn on his laptop all day long. He got a thrill from having his office door open and pretending to work while he was looking at porn. Of course, there were times when he would close the door and take off his clothes and stroke his cock to completion because he was just so desperate to cum. One of his favorite lunchtime activities was to go to the bathroom on other floors of his office building and “leave his mark” on the stall walls. There were a few bathrooms that had glory holes and if he timed it just right, he could suck off a few cocks and have a “three cum martini” lunch with no one the wiser. Butt plugs and frilly lace and satin lingerie completed his wardrobe under his conservative suits almost every day without exception. On the train ride home he would pull out his cock and stroke it furiously beneath a book, hoping to get caught but terrified that he would. If anyone had paid attention, they would have wondered why he’d been reading The DaVinci Code for five years straight.

In his car, Ronald would drive by apartment buildings, hospitals, shopping centers and even schools so he could take out his cock and pull it with the hopes that someone would see him and get aroused. When he got bold, he would expose himself to some poor woman and when she screamed in horror, he would race off and swear to never do it again, until the next time the urge hit him. If there was ever a case of someone being a pervert, Ron was a textbook example.

Ron’s wife was totally fucking clueless to her husband’s dark side. Years ago, when Ronald told Tricia that he needed time to wind down after a stressful day at work and that he was NOT to be disturbed for at least an hour, she didn’t question him nor did she care what he did during that time. She never went in his “man room” downstairs and while she figured he had some porn down there to watch on his 52-inch flat screen, it didn’t really bother her one way or the other. As long as she could buy whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, Tricia really didn’t care if he had a Cambodian sex slave chained up down there.

Ron was meticulous in taking off his lingerie and putting it in the secret closet he had built. He had more stilettos than his wife and his wardrobe was probably just as big as hers but certainly more trampy. Mini skirts, wigs, rubber and fetish gear, every sort of fetish attire lined the walls of his covert dressing area. The fact that he had enough sex toys in there to open a small sex store would be impressive to most but it was never enough for him. He wanted to own every sex aid known to man and almost monthly he’d spend several thousand dollars buying toys off the Internet. There was a full-length mirror in the closet so when he got completely naked and pulled out his butt plug, he could see his gaping, red, swollen hole. He liked looking at himself lick and suck that filthy butt plug straight from his asshole, first smelling it and getting turned on by the scent of his ass and then making a show of licking the brown streaks and tasting the bitter remnants that made him crazed with lust. The filthy, raunchy nature of his actions would make him desperate to ride a huge dildo while he reveled in his disgusting pleasures. When he finally emerged from his play area, showered and dressed conservatively in his khakis and polo shirt, he would kiss his wife on the mouth and get aroused all over again with the knowledge that she had no clue what he had just done.

Dinners were always mundane. The food was excellent but the conversation was always a bore. It seemed the only things they could discuss were the boys, their plans for vacationing in Hyannis Port, and if the landscapers killed off the azaleas. They were superficial people with superficial lives and content to stay that way.

On a typical day, The Waterman’s would retire to the family room, share a cognac, and watch a little TV. With a few hours of the formalities of married life out the way, they would each go they own separate ways, Tricia to scrapbook or gossip with the neighbors or something, Ronald to indulge in his fetishes. Safely secluded in his private domain again, it was then that he could really let his hair down so to speak and spend several hours indulging in whatever his twisted mind could conceive. When it was time for bed, three or four times a week, they would “have sex”. Most nights, sex would consist of Ron going down on Tricia and eating her pussy. Penetration was a rare occasion for the pair because his cock wasn’t big enough to satisfy her even when he could pop a full boner. He much preferred to stroke his cock and imagine different scenarios being played out in his head.

One would think that because he and his wife were relatively distant, that he would never fantasize about her. In actuality, Tricia was the primary focus of his sexual imagination. Ron dreamt of seeing his outwardly conservative Junior League, Daughter of the American Revolution, PTA wife in the most degrading, undignified, shameful scenarios. In fact, on the rare occasion he could get completely hard, it was always to fantasies of her being savagely fucked by a group of black men with enormous cocks that treated her like less than trash.

It never failed that when they were coming home from visiting her parents in NJ, Ron would “get lost” in Harlem, driving up and down streets, secretly hoping to get carjacked. In all of his travels, the worst thing that ever happened was somebody offered to give him directions to the L.I.E. Tricia would heighten his arousal by bitching and complaining the entire time, fueling his desires with her paranoid, racist rants. “JEEZ Ron, can’t you ever fucking get anything right? I swear, it’s bad enough that you insist on driving the Jag every time we go to my parents but you ALWAYS get lost up here ‘in the hood’. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to get raped by a bunch of those filthy, black guys.”

It probably wouldn’t have made any difference to Ron to know that his wife was secretly craving the exact thing she was complaining about. He didn’t hear her anyway, he was too lost in his own fantasies of seeing her abused, degraded, humiliated and used in ways that would make most people’s stomachs turn. In his mind, it wasn’t about her desires anyway; his arousal came from the fact that Black men with big dicks would take what was his and use it practically to the point beyond recognition. He got off on the idea of filthy, dirty black men making his pristine property something untouchable. Yeah, he wanted to see his wife writhing around in pleasure, to see her coming in an endless string of orgasms that left her weeping and shaking but it was the idea of Black men defiling her that got him off. His cock wouldn’t even get a tingle at the thought of his wife being gangbanged by Asian guys or Latino men. He’d seen his wife pleasured by a group of white men before and, while it certainly was hot to see Tricia being passed around like rag doll, he needed to see the contrast, he was desperate for Black dudes to fuck her because to him, Black men were like animals, barely human savages bred for fucking white women.

Ronald saw the opportunity to make all of his dreams come true when he got careless at work. As usual, he was pulling his cock and looking at one of his favorite websites where white wives were getting gangbanged by Black guys. He was on the verge of cumming when he heard someone clear their throat. He slammed his laptop closed and looked up, cock in hand, and saw the new guy from the mailroom. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t you know to leave my mail on my assistant’s desk? Get out you dumb . . .” He desperately wanted to call him a nigger, inspired by the way the Black men were throwing it around in the video he was watching, but he got scared at the last second and refrained. “What are you looking at? Get OUT!” He shoved his cock back in his pants and felt his face change to crimson red but his sense of superiority and arrogance outweighed what should have been his shame.

Calmly, the young man placed the mail on his desk, stared Ron in the eye, and said, “I’ll be sure to leave your mail on your secretary’s desk in the future. For the rest of the day, Ron waited for the backlash. He was sure within an hour, everyone would know what happened and he was busy constructing lies and figuring out a way to get that guy fired. By the late afternoon, no one even seemed to look his direction and by the next morning, everything seemed normal. He saw the guy walk past his door and deliver the mail without even looking in his direction. He casually walked out to his administrative assistant’s desk and said, “Is that a new mail guy? I’ve never seen him before.”

Lourdes, his sassy Puerto Rican assistant said, “Yeah, that’s Kamal, he just started this week.” Ron saw her lick her lips and stare at his ass that couldn’t be hidden in his baggy khakis. Her admiration only lasted a second and she went right back to the overwhelming amount of work she had on her desk, having to shoulder most of the work that Ron was supposed to do that he put off on her. While he was able to see the lust in her eyes, what he didn’t detect was any indication that she knew what had had happened yesterday. He walked back in his office, afraid to engage in his usual routine of looking at porn, and sat in a daze for several hours.

By lunchtime, his curiosity got the best of him. He went out looking for Kamal to find out what his deal was. Any normal person would have blabbed to everyone and then some. As luck would have it, he saw Kamal enter the men’s room at the far end of the 18th floor. Looking around to see if anyone else was around, he entered a few seconds later.

Standing alone at the urinals, Ron could see the broad shoulders and muscular back of the mail boy. At 6’ even and maybe 230 pounds of hard flesh, Kamal turned his head slightly when he heard the door open and then went right back to his business. Ron walked to the urinal next to him and pulled out his cock. He glanced down to see Kamal’s dick. The strong yellow stream of piss hit the back of the urinal and Ron could see what had to be nearly 8 inches of soft dick extending from Kamal’s fly. Pee shy, he willed himself to urinate and said, “Listen, about what happened—you know, yesterday. What do we have to do to make sure that none of that gets out?”

Putting his dick back in his pants, Kamal said, “Yeah, don’t sweat it,” turned to wash his hands and left without saying another word.

That didn’t register with Ronald. In his white world, everything boiled down to money or sex or some combination of both. There was no way he was going to let some punk 25 year old get away with having anything over his head so he followed him to the lunch room. Sitting down at the table next to him, he quietly said, “Look, I’ll give you $25,000 bucks, no questions asked, but you have to sign a paper saying that you won’t say anything.” There, that should fix him, that was more money than that kid would make in a year and it was barely a drop in the bucket to Ron, nothing a few strategically misplaced zeroes on a balance sheet wouldn’t take care of. He glanced down at Kamal’s lunch and made a mental note that he found it odd that someone with such obvious muscle definition was eating nothing but a salad and fruit.

This time, more assertively, Kamal said, “I told you, don’t sweat it.”

Ron felt like a reprimanded child. His anger raged and he wouldn’t be held hostage by some fucking high school dropout who couldn’t get a better job than dropping off mail. Unfortunately, his perversion got the better of him and he started calculating in his head how he could use the situation to his advantage. He inched his chair closer, his leg touching Kamal’s under the table. Leaning in, he whispered, “Okay, I was just doing what all us guys do, you know. And—look, it’s no big deal but I just don’t want everyone knowing my business and I have an offer for you. I think I have something that you might want that’s better than money. I’ll make a deal with you. You come out to my house this weekend, bring some friends why don’t you, as many as you want, and I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. You can split the money with your homies any way you want. In exchange, we can make sure my little secret is kept and it’s all good, right bro?” He smiled and put out his fist like he wanted a pound.

Kamal pushed his chair over several inches and said, “Look, I don’t want whatever it is you are offering and I told you twice already that it’s no big deal. If you want to jerk your little dick off at work, I don’t really give a damn. You white boys are all crazy any damn way.”

The fucking nerve of this kid was outrageous. Ron was pissed. How dare he refuse to negotiate like a man. Forget the fact that he hadn’t even heard that Kamal was willing to put the entire thing behind them; all he heard was “little white dick”, “white boy”, and “crazy”. Who the hell did he think he was? Ron couldn’t comprehend that a black guy was pulling the strings so he blurted out, almost loud enough for others to hear, “You can have my wife, you can do anything you want to her, she’s yours, in exchange for your silence.”

There, that would solve everything. What black guy wouldn’t JUMP at the opportunity to fuck a hot white wife? Ron learned that it wasn’t the proverbial carrot he thought he was going to tempt Kamal with when the young man wiped his mouth with his napkin, threw it on his remaining food in disgust and pushed his chair back. He walked away without saying a word.

For the next three months, they played the same game. Kamal would ignore Ron and Ron would, in turn, obsessively try to figure out what motivated this strange person. He learned that Kamal had been born in Trinidad and graduated with a 4.0 from community college because he couldn’t afford to finish his four-year studies in engineering. He belonged to something called The Ausar Auset Society but Ron didn’t have the intellect or patience to figure out what that was so he just wrote it off as some sort of Black cult. He overheard some of the temps talking about him and learned that he had broken up with his girlfriend a few months ago but still wasn’t dating. Nothing computed for Ron. How could this guy end up in the mailroom? From what he could tell, he was intelligent, articulate, and all the women thought he was good-looking, even the white women. If someone had told Ron that the reason Kamal couldn’t find a better job was because he was competing against boys like his sons who cheated and lied their way through college and who had jobs lined up on graduation because of nepotism and racial preference, Ron would have SCREAMED from the highest mountaintop that was an outrageous and sinful lie to discredit the white man. Too bad it was true.

It was in his nature to be manipulative, so Ron decided he was going to get what he wanted and he was going to do whatever he had to do in order to make it happen. He’d been tortured for months, fantasizing about Kamal fucking his wife. He called in sick one day at work and told his assistant that he needed several important documents on his desk delivered to his home. He specifically told her that Kamal was to deliver the documents, no one else, by noon and not a minute later. He put a note on the front door that Kamal was to come around back to the pool where he would be waiting for him.

Prompt, Kamal arrived at 12:00 exactly and read the note. He walked around the side of the house towards the back, cautiously, expecting some sort of set up. Sure enough, Ron was in the back by the pool, naked, with his wife, and she was on a lounge chair with nothing on but a pair of high heels with her legs high in the air and her husband’s tongue in her pussy. She screamed a blood-curdling yell and tried to grab her cover-up but Ron forcefully pinned her legs back to her chest so she couldn’t move. She was visibly shaken and Kamal froze, expecting the police to jump out any minute and arrest him for rape. He placed his bag on the ground and slowly opened the flap and extended the package to his employer. “Look, I don’t’ want any trouble, I’m just following your orders to bring these documents out to you and hand deliver them.” He placed the documents on the table and began to back away.

Ron smiled, “Here, don’t you want some of this hot pussy?” Tricia couldn’t believe her ears. Her husband was offering her up like a piece of meat without her consent or consideration.

Brazen and bold, Ron stroked his cock in front of Kamal. “Come here, boy. You know you want this. You know you want some of this white pussy. I’m offering it to you. No strings. Do anything you want to it and I mean anything. Fuck her mouth, her pussy, fuck her asshole. Make her choke and gag on your big black cock till she pukes all over it and make her keep sucking you off. Fist her slack cunt, piss on her, hell, piss up her, make her lick your filthy bunghole. Do anything you want to her. Dude, I really want you to fill her up with your black sperm. Yeah, fill up her white cunt with your darkie baby juice and get her knocked up.” He really wanted to use the N word but he wanted to wait until Kamal used it first to get the go ahead. He knew some Black guys were sensitive about that sort of thing and he didn’t want to get his head bashed in by jumping the gun.

Kamal held back his disgust and spoke calmly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you want me to do those things to your wife?”

Ron masturbated proudly as he just knew he was about to realize his dreams. Yeah, he was four or five guys shy of the gangbang he wanted to witness but this was as close as he’d ever gotten to his ultimate fantasy. “Man, come on, you know. Black guys are so hung and they—you know. God, why don’t you get it? Having a black guy fuck my wife is really nasty, thinking about her being bred black ‘n all.”

Ron had moved out of the way and Tricia was still laying there, holding her legs up by grasping the backs of her knees, her breathing calmed down now that she realized that Kamal wasn’t a total stranger but someone her husband knew. Her pussy was swollen and throbbing and wet with desire. She wanted all the things her husband had described and she was ready for the action to begin, no introductions necessary.

“You sick, twisted fuck,” Kamal replied. “First of all, I’m not some monkey stud to service your wife and second, impregnation is not a sexual fetish, it’s a right and a privilege you obviously don’t deserve.” For a brief second, the couple thought he was going to leave but he started to unbutton his shirt. Kamal spelled out everything. “You want me to fuck your wife because I saw you masturbating in your office that day? Is that right?” Ron nodded profusely. “You’re telling me that if I fuck your wife, if I degrade her, that I don’t have to worry about you harassing me at work anymore, that we can put this behind us once and for all and go on with our lives.” He continued, “And, I’m to understand that you want me to do anything filthy and nasty I can think of to your wife with your permission.”

Ronald could barely answer. He was crazed with lust. “Slap her, choke her, squeeze her tits until they are bruised, tie her up, anything man, do anything.” Tricia was fingering her pussy and moaning her non-verbal consent.

Kamal pulled off his shirt and let it fall to the ground. He kept on his white wife-beater and it contrasted rather ironically yet dramatically against his bronze colored skin. He steadied himself on the chair as he pulled off his pants and left his boots in place. He pulled off his boxers and it was Ronald’s turn to lick his lips in jealousy, envy, and lust.

Kamal’s muscular thighs were a masterpiece in ebony sculpture. His arms, his chest, his shoulders were formed to perfection. With a six-pack of abs that would make any personal trainer proud, Ron couldn’t imagine a more perfect specimen to use his wife. It was the meat hanging between his legs’s that made Kamal the ideal stud for Ron’s demented fantasy. At just over 8 inches, it was clearly double the length of his own tiny cock and the thickness didn’t have a scale to compare. It looked as thick as a can of beer and he wasn’t even hard. In fact, it looked like it weighed several pounds in and of itself and Tricia was fingering her pussy in anticipation.

“Here, get it wet.” Tricia moved to suck his dick but Kamal stopped her. “No, not you-- him.” He pointed to Ron and without hesitation, Ron was on his knees, kneeling before the young man, worshipping his big, black cock, trying to get it hard with his mouth.

Tricia had never seen her husband suck a cock before and there was something very thrilling about seeing him fag out over a beautiful, black one. “Oh yeah, honey, get that big monster wet so he can slide it in my tight, white pussy. Is that what you want to see? You want to see him pounding his big hard black cock in my cunt, stretching it, ripping it open? Yeah, get it nice and wet so he can ram it in my sweet, white holes.”

Grabbing Ron’s head, Kamal throat fucked him without care or concern for his breath or comfort. Thrusting his hips and shoving every single inch down his throat, it was Ron himself who was gagging and choking on that gorgeous prick, not his wife. He didn’t care. To Ron, it was worth it so he could see his wife being fucked like a $2.00 crack whore. He sucked that cock better than he’d ever sucked any other cock in his life. By the time Kamal had pushed him away, his dick was fully erect, hard, throbbing, and dripping with spit. Grabbing a handful of bleached blonde hair, Kamal roughly pulled Tricia to her knees in front of him and said, “Let’s see who’s better at sucking my dick. Come on bitch, get to work.”

Ron was better. He’d had more experience sucking a variety of cocks. He had better technique without a doubt. That only made Kamal treat Tricia rougher, being unforgiving when she didn’t do it the way he wanted. He shoved his cock down her throat and she tried desperately to pull away, unable to breathe or move. She was gagging on the meat shoved in her throat and she her eyes were tearing. It was the stuff dreams are made of for Ron; his wife was being suffocated by a dick that was stretching her mouth to beyond capacity. He stroked his cock furiously with two fingers while his wife struggled to get her hand around the black cock that filled her slutty mouth. Her diamond wedding band shone in the sunshine and that image made Ron’s cock leak.

Pushing her away, Kamal commanded her to get on the lounger again and spread her legs. Anxious to move things along, she said, “Oh yeah, eat my pussy you sexy stud.”

Kamal laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Without any other explanation or commentary, he gripped the backs of her thighs tightly and rammed his dick in her pussy in one thrust, to the balls. Tricia screamed out in real pain. She’d never had a dick that big in her before, not even in college when she’d had a threesome with her roommate and some black guy from the football team.

“Easy stud,” she panted, half wanting him to take it easy on her and half enjoying the pain.

“Easy? What for? That’s what you want isn’t it? You think I’m some savage stud that can’t control my lust for you, right? You think I live to fuck white women, that I’m a barely literate thug who only gets hard for white trash suburban whores like you.” His comments stung Tricia but they turned her on at the same time. He was right so, yeah, she could go along with the game.

“Yeah, you big, black Mandingo, screw this white pussy good. Make it hurt. Show my husband how pathetic his little cock is. Make me never want his little thing again. Turn me into a slut for Black cock.”

“Do you even know what a Mandingo is you stupid cunt?” Kamal pounded harder and deeper.

Tricia was confused. What the hell kind of question was that to be asking her. She decided to go along with the game anyway. “You are. You’re my black daddy Mandingo and I’m your filthy white slut.” Her response seemed to anger Kamal and he became more brutal in his fucking. She tried to push him away but she wasn’t strong enough. She looked to her husband to see if he could control things a bit more but he was in a zone, fingering his asshole and stroking his tiny cock, insane with arousal. Things were just beginning to heat up in his mind, just the way he wanted. He wanted Kamal to use his wife and it didn’t matter to him if she enjoyed it or not.

Kamal grabbed a handful of Mrs. Waterman’s hair again and flipped her over on her knees. She was grateful for the reprieve on her pussy and was expecting things to go a little more smoothly doggy style. Before she knew what was happening, she felt the sting of Kamal’s hand on her pale, flat ass. “OWWWW,” she cried out, the heat and sting of the slap radiating through her body. Her body liked the rough treatment but her mind knew something was wrong. “What are you trying to do you black bastard, taking our your revenge for slavery on me? I didn’t own any slaves.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “I’m not exacting revenge for hundreds of years of slavery on you, you dumb bitch, I’m exacting revenge for being treated like an ignorant buck incapable of anything other than lusting for white women, weed, and cheap wine from a paper bag.” He grabbed her hair like the reins on a filly and pulled hard. He shoved his cock in her again, with more force, stabbing her womb with his weapon of flesh. Ronald inched closer. He wanted a front row seat to the show, to smell the scent of their fucking, to taste their nasty mixture of juices. He knelt behind Kamal and watched his muscular ass flex as he pumped his wife. The scent from his nuts was intoxicating and he marveled at the way Kamal’s smooth brown skin shone in the sun, damp with perspiration.

Tricia was in the place between pain and pleasure. She had never been fucked so savagely before in her life and she was going to pay the price for it tomorrow, but today, it was heaven. She liked being treated so roughly, even if she didn’t understand all the things he was saying. It was all part of the game, race play had to involve . . . some stuff about race or it would defeat the purpose, right? That was part of the fantasy, the hot suburban wife getting nailed by the ghetto thug. It wasn’t hot unless they were playing up the differences, exploiting the stereotypes. About the only thing she could contribute to the fantasy was her constant chants of, “Fuck me with your big black cock. Fuck this white pussy. Pump your black seed in my fertile white cunt. Harder, harder, treat my like a filthy slut for black cock.”

Kamal’s dialogue was a bit more explicit. “You fucking stupid white whore. You are too dumb to know that your man is sucking every dick he can get his hands on. The two of you think you are so superior, so much better than me, that fucking me is ‘slumming it.’ I’m better than you in every way you dirty slut. I’m going to use you, your pussy, your ass, and your dumb ass husband and you’ll regret the day you ever dreamt of having some Black buck fuck you to fulfill your ghetto fantasies.”

Those words registered with Ron as, “I love white pussy.” Wanting to rush things, Ron pleaded, “Fuck her in the ass. Shove your big black cock in her dirty asshole.” That was, after all, the nastiest form of sex. To have a Black man fucking his wife in the shitter was the ultimate degradation. He didn’t view Black men as men, or even human beings for that matter, so having his wife getting fucked in the ass by a black guy was symbolic of the most degrading thing she could endure.

Kamal pulled out and Ron dove for his dick again, tasting the elixir that was made up of the juices of his wife and his subordinate. Tricia wanted to feel that hard cock in her ass as well. She’d moved beyond the pain and felt nothing but sublime pleasure, filth, and raunch at the hands of her black stud.

Kamal backslapped Ron and sent him reeling backwards on the hard tile pavement. It wasn’t part of Ron’s fantasy but he could go along with it, again, because anything was worth seeing his wife being used like a piece of trash. He couldn’t touch his cock for fear it was going to explode. He was jealous of his wife, envious that she was going to have her anus stretched to beyond belief. He knew he could take Kamal’s dick, having ridden many huge black dildos in his time, but he doubted Tricia had had anything bigger than his little cock in her ass.

Kamal would have loved nothing more than to ram his dick balls deep in Tricia’s ass but he couldn’t. It just didn’t fit. He pushed and she cried out in pain. The more he pushed, the louder her cries became. She rubbed her clit furiously and shoved four fingers in her pussy, creating less room for Kamal to work his dick in her asshole. “Here, get it wet again.” He grabbed Ron by the hair and pulled him on his dick again. Ron used his tongue like magic and took everything Kamal had to give him and then some. He tasted the fresh ass juice from his wife’s rectum and savored the flavor. It tasted better than it had ever tasted before, mixed with the salty sweet precum of a gigantic black cock. He spit on his wife’s ass and pulled her cheeks open, encouraging Kamal once again. “Fuck her dirty asshole. Ram your thick, huge Black cock in her white butt.”

Without mercy or consideration, Kamal did just that. He shoved his cock in, pushed, shoved and rammed until every inch was embedded deep in Tricia’s ass. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he started fucking her, concentrating on making sure he drove every millimeter of his dick deep in her and withdrew it all the way to the head before he rammed it in deeper and harder than before. The only thing that made him stop was to take it all the way out so her husband could lick and suck his dick clean. He fucked her so hard he sort of felt sorry for her except she kept saying, “Oh god, please don’t stop, it feels so good.”

Kamal fucked her asshole for twenty minutes straight. Her ass was red from being spanked and her hole gaped open like the Midtown Tunnel. It was so loose and sloppy, he could barely feel any friction. “You, shithead, get over here and take her place.” He pushed Tricia out of the way and motioned for Ron to assume the position. He scrambled to get on his knees without a second’s hesitation at his wife seeing him accept a black dick but Kamal stopped him. “I want you to see my face.” Yeah, that would work for Ron, he could get off on that. He liked the idea of showing off his own little cock while he got a huge black one rammed in his manpussy. Mmmm, that thought was delicious. It was no longer about his wife, this was about the fulfillment of his sissy slut fantasies where he would become the whore for black cock, he would be degraded and used.

Kamal placed his hand over Ron’s mouth. If he was going to cum, he couldn’t listen to that insane “big black buck” drivel. He felt no mercy for Mr. Waterman so he fucked him like he was trying to kill him with his dick. His rage boiled up and he thrust deep and hard until he felt the first shot of cum go deep within his boss’s ass. He fell back, exhausted, and watched as Tricia dove for her husband’s dirty creampie without any instructions.

Both still aroused, the pair then collectively dove for Kamal’s cock, cleaning his cock of their collective juices. Kamal let them lick him from front to back before he aimed his soft cock in their faces and emptied his bladder. He dove in the pool and seemed to be cleaning himself of the stench and filth of the white couple. Dried and dressed, he left without so much as a goodbye.

Ron had never been more pleased with himself. He dove for Tricia’s pussy and asshole and ate her out for the rest of the evening, never putting on clothes, never more than a few minutes from trying to see if he could taste the evidence of her hot black fuck. The next day, he casually strolled into the office and saw a manila envelope on his desk. He opened it and found a DVD. His heart dropped. He opened it and placed the disc in his laptop. The camera had been hidden in the mailbag. He shut the laptop and called Lourdes on the intercom. “I want to see about getting a new intern. See if that guy from the mailroom might be interested.”

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

The Making of a White Sissy Slut

When he replied to my ad online, Steven said he was an attractive, 30-something, successful white man who was willing to explore the wild side. When we met in person, I was more than a little bit disappointed. Attractive was a stretch of the imagination and I told him so right off the bat. He acted as if I’d said something to offend him and responded by saying, “Well, no one’s ever told me that I was unattractive.” When I suggested that was because no one had had the occasion to be brutally honest with him, he got visibly pissed off and blurted out, “Well, my mom thinks . . .” and caught himself before he said something that made him look like a total, pathetic loser.

Truth be told, Steven wasn’t gruesome; he was merely average. Average for a white boy unfortunately is just shy of ugly. Thin lips, pasty skin, thinning hair, non-descript features, he was nothing to write home about. I had plans to change that. The ad to which he replied was a proposition to completely transform a white boy into a sexy, desirable, cross-dressing, sissy, and insatiable, cum-crazed whore for black cock. I didn’t pull any punches and he knew what he was in for so there was no reason to play games. I didn’t have much to work with from the beginning but at least he wasn’t fat and out of shape. I’d had less to work with in the past so he wasn’t my greatest challenge.

I took him back to my loft and told him to strip. He’d lied in his response by saying that his cock was just a little over 6 inches. I made him stand in the center of the room, completely naked, and I sensually stroked his cock for less than a minute until he was whimpering and biting his lip, trying to keep from cumming. I took out my ruler and placed it at the base of his cock and told him to tell me EXACTLY how much his worthless, pathetic cock actually measured. He mumbled something incoherent.

“Listen you little worm. I said TELL ME HOW MUCH YOUR LITTLE CLITTY REALLY MEASURES.” His face became reddened and he looked angry and broken at the same time. I continued to stroke his cock and I could tell that he was on the verge of shooting his load. Tears were forming in his eyes.

“Five,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, choking back the tears.

It wasn’t even a full five inches but I’d accomplished my mission. He was humiliated. “You can’t expect to please a woman with that. That’s pathetic. You have no choice, you have to be transformed into a cross-dressing, sissy whore so you’ll never have to annoy women with your worthless attempt at fucking again. I’m going to make sure your pussy is your only source of sexual satisfaction. I’m going to turn you into a woman, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you move, the very way you think is going to be that of a woman. You will be a lady in the streets and a filthy, nasty, cum dump in the sheets. Your pussy will throb and get so horny you will actually think it’s getting wet and you will be desperate to get fucked by the biggest, blackest, hardest pricks you can find. He moaned out loud as his cum dribbled from his cock, barely enough to be considered a spurt, let alone a blast.

Over the next three months, I trained him. I caged his cock in a chastity device and he was denied the right to cum. I had his body waxed and he was as smooth as silk. Lessons consisted of teaching him how to walk like a woman, how to hold his hands, and how to cross his legs and be sophisticated in public. I also trained him in ways to drive a man crazy by spreading his legs wide and begging for hard dick in his slutty cunt in private.

He was a very good student. I could see the changes taking place before my very eyes. When he did well, I would reward him by strapping on a 10 inch black dildo and fucking him while he looked at pictures of gorgeous Black men with enormous cocks and he told me out loud how much he lived to worship them. For punishment, when he would do something wrong, or simply for my amusement, I would wrap my hands around his neck and choke him, telling him that I was going to make him suck off a white man if he didn’t learn to behave. Cutting off his air supply, I would tell him that white men were arrogant, repulsive, ignorant assholes and that if he didn’t do as I told him, I was going to make him put their nasty, pitiful small cocks in his mouth until they came and that he would never earn the right to suck off a Black man’s gorgeous, manly cock. Just as he was about to pass out, I would release my grip and he would cry like a baby hysterically on the floor, begging me never to make him do something so disgusting, confessing that he hated white men and never wanted to touch them or be touched by them.

At four months, he was passable enough that we could go out shopping together as girls, and he was already turning heads of men and didn’t even realize it. Even in his regular clothes, he was becoming feminine; he spoke with a gentle demeanor, and showed none of the signs of arrogance of when we first met. He was an expert at applying his makeup and the expensive wigs we purchased for him looked 100% real. He learned quickly to point out cheap and trashy cross dressers and their lame attempts to get off by shocking unsuspecting sales clerks in lingerie stores. We shopped in expensive boutiques and he had quite a collection of heels, stockings, lingerie, and dresses.

Orgasm denial was taking a toll on him because it was month five when he began to beg for release, to practice his newly learned deep-throating skills on a real cock. He endured the discomfort of saline injections to increase his bust size and he marveled at the way his new, full tits looked in his lacy bras, bustiers, and corsets. He especially loved when I would apply nipple clamps and twist and pull his nipples while calling him a filthy white whore. Previously a work-a-holic, wearing men’s clothing felt unnatural to him and now he would find excuses to work from home or leave work early so he could get home and put on his satin and silk and feel like his true self. He would beg me to let him eat my pussy, but I told him he wasn’t allowed because he could only have superior black cocks in his mouth. Steven the male was no longer; he was a distant memory. Stacy was born anew, a woman in every sense of the word.

I planned Stacy’s coming out party for exactly six months from the day we met. I had to admit, she was gorgeous. Even I didn’t think she was capable of such an extreme makeover. That average looking white boy I met so long ago was now a stunning, beautiful white woman whose smoky seductive eyes could captivate, whose collagen-enriched, full lips were inviting to the hardest of cocks, and whose hips swayed sensually when she gracefully walked in her expensive stilettos. There wasn’t a detail I left to chance. Her hands were perfectly manicured, not with garish fake claws but with an elegant clear polish. She wore a simple diamond band on the ring finger of her left hand, not as a symbol of our marriage, but as a symbol of her devotion to me for allowing her to become the cum hungry whore who dwelt inside her.

I’d invited four of the most hung Black men I knew to her party. They’d been to a couple of my events before and they knew the deal. They were to treat the slut as harsh and as rough as they could as long as she didn’t utter her safe word. I’d kept the party attendees a secret, Stacy didn’t know how many or who, she just knew that her asspussy was going to be truly satisfied for the first time in her life.

Stacy sat at her dressing table, applying the last little bit of her makeup, her hands shaking. She looked at me through the mirror and said softly, “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been freed from a prison of lies and masquerading. It makes me sick to think of what I used to be. I know that I’m supposed to be a white bitch for black cocks now, I know that I was born to be a sissy slut.”

Tears were forming in her eyes and I stopped her. “Stop with the waterworks sweetie, you’ll ruin your makeup. Just go out there and make me proud.” She stood up and I made her turn around for me. She was breathtaking. I applied pressure to her shoulder and she bent forward for me without me having to ask. I pulled up the hem of her skirt and bared her pussy. I’d inserted a large, black butt plug in her earlier in the day and I pulled it out as it made a lewd and nasty plopping sound as Stacy moaned and wiggled her ass at the empty feeling. Her cunt was tight and ready. I wiped the excess lube away and finally handed her the key to the chastity device.

“Here, you do it for me, please. I can’t . . . I’m . . . You were right all along. My clitty is worthless and I should be ashamed I ever tried to use it . . .” I freed her from her restraints, stroked it softly, and her clit engorged to its full length immediately, harder, thicker, and longer than it’d ever been. I turned her towards the full-length mirror and pulled her skirt up in front of her. We both giggled at the obscene image of this strikingly beautiful woman with an oversized clit staring back at us. She pulled on a pair of sexy French-cut, lace panties and tucked her clit away as she took a deep breath and emerged for her debut as a dirty, white, pain-pig, tramp.

The reactions of everyone were just as I’d hoped. The fellas almost couldn’t believe that Stacy wasn’t a real woman. They kept looking at her and whispering to each other. Dante pulled me to the side and asked me if I wasn’t trying to play some sort of game on them because there was no way that could really be a dude. Stacy was disappointed and deservingly so. She wanted more than four men to use and abuse her body. She’d learned to take two oversized dildos in her asscunt at the same time. She could swallow 12 inches of dildo without gagging and I’d teased her for months about the prospect of having no less than 10 men fuck her to unconsciousness. She was the most gracious hostess however, refilling drink glasses, making sure everyone had something to eat, laughing and mingling and making everyone feel comfortable like only a real woman could do.

She teased the men, just like I’d taught her to do, bending over and showing off her ass. Her tits were spilling out of her sexy top and she made sure to rub crotches whenever she could.

Everyone was waiting for my signal for the real party to begin. “Gentlemen, I want to thank you so much for coming here tonight. Stacy is my greatest accomplishment to date. Spank her, fist fuck her, make her suck your filthy cocks after you fuck her, degrade her in whatever extreme, base, perverted, disgusting way you can think of. ANYTHING you can think of, she’ll do it and I promise she’ll only beg for more. Without further ado, let the games begin.”

The guys started moving furniture around, making space in the living room for the serious play to begin. Stacy did a sexy and sensual striptease, more exotic and alluring than any professional could do. I saw a look of panic in her eyes when it came time to take off her panties. It was in that moment that he was ashamed of her cock. She wanted to have a real pussy, a real clit. I looked at her and nodded slightly and told her with my eyes that it was okay for her to be who she was. She sensed my reassurance and boldly stepped out of her panties and got on her knees and waited for whatever sweet torture could be inflicted upon her.

Dante and Rodney pulled out their dicks first and Stacy dove for them, feeling the smooth, taut skin of their hardening cocks fill her mouth, tasting their sweet precum. She jerked off one as she sucked the other and went back and forth, deep throating them and getting them wet with spit. Rodney grabbed her face and forced her mouth open and spit in it and shoved his dick balls deep in her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and fucked her face. Dante pulled her sexy nipples which only made her hum and moan on the cock in her mouth. Eric wanted in on the action and he pulled off all his clothes and said, “Let me have some of that.”

Always willing to share, the first two backed off and let the other two have at it. Eric turned around and said, “Come on bitch, nothing more that I like than a white woman’s tongue in my dirty asshole. Lick it clean.” I had no idea how dirty his asshole was in order for it to be licked clean but it was apparent that Stacy loved the smells and tastes of whatever his asscrack had to offer. She drove her tongue in deep and sucked his asshole. I could hear her say, “Mmmm, it tastes so good,” before her face was surrounded by Eric’s sex bubble butt and she went back to making a feast of his asshole.

Gerald was the last man standing and he wanted in on the action too. Come here bitch, I gotta piss and I want you to drink it all. Stacy whipped around and before she could confirm that she was ready, her mouth was full of cock. She had been trained well to hold completely still and wait for that piss and I could see her start to swallow repeatedly as Gerald moaned out, “Yeah, toilet whore, drink my rank, hot piss.” I could tell when he was finished because he started to fuck her throat savagely. “Yeah slut, take my black dick.”

Things went into overdrive from then on out. All four men had their hard cocks in her mouth in succession. Occasionally she would have two cocks in her mouth at the same time but that didn’t seem to faze her. While she was sucking one, she was stroking off two others. They were pinching her nipples, slapping her tits, taking turns shoving their hard cocks in her throat. Eric hadn’t planned on cumming in her mouth but she was sucking so hard, licking his balls and working the head of his dick with her throat that he couldn’t help himself. He blasted her mouth with his salty cum like a real man, pumping his hot jism in her mouth and adding his spit to the mix before she was made to swallow.

Stacy was in the zone. “Fuck me, somebody please fuck me.” She was pushed down to her knees and Rodney got in position first. He was still wet from the nasty blowjob and her pussy was leaking lube so he had no reason to go slow. He rammed his dick in her cunt balls deep. She let out a moan and lowered he head to the floor and kept her ass in the air so he could have full access to pound her tight pussy. He grabbed her hips and started pounding out a steady rhythm like an African drum. Each stroke, he would pull out to the head and ram every inch deep inside her. Gerald got in front of her and worked it out so that when he was balls deep in her mouth, Rodney was pulling out of her tight twat.

Dante was amused. “Man, white boys are fucked up. Look at this fucking faggot take all that dick and not miss a beat.”

Stacy looked up. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m a fucking faggot whiteboy that lives to be used by black men. Breed my sissy cunt, use me, degrade me for being a perverted white bitch, treat me like a piece of shit. Take out all your aggression and frustration on my pussy. Just fuck me. FUUUCK ME.”

And that’s exactly what they did. One by one, they fucked her like an animal without care for her pleasure or pain. Every time a cock was pulled from her freshly fucked shithole she sucked it clean. There wasn’t an occasion in over two hours that she didn’t have a cock in her mouth and her pussy at the same time. The guys held off on cumming until they couldn’t take it anymore. She worked her pussy and they gave her what she wanted. Her ass was red and sore from being spanked, her tits were bruised from being grabbed and squeezed. Her nuts were aching and in pain, desperate for release. The pain inspired her for more. The more they used her, the more ravenous she became. Gerald unloaded his nuts her mouth while Dante pumped a load deep in her colon. He grabbed a plate of Hors D'Oeuvres, dumped them on the floor, and made her squat over the plate and shit out his cum. Stacy pushed out his cum and took it a step further and licked his cum from the plate like a sexy kitten licking milk.

Eric had the most stamina because he’d already cum once so he lay on the floor and demanded that she ride his jet, black dick. She stood shakily on her high heels, her legs weakened by the savage fucking she’d endured for several hours. Still a lady in every sense of the word, and still beautiful even with her makeup smeared and her hair sweaty, she thought only of her lover’s pleasure first and turned away from him, facing his feet so that he wouldn’t have to be disgusted by looking at her obscene, aroused pink clitty. I intervened. I leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear. “You aren’t really a woman, you are a pathetic white boy who needed the pretense of being a woman to realize your nasty true nature. Don’t be afraid to show off your worthless cock now. You are a filthy, faggot, cocksucking cum-whore who now knows that you are only fit to please Black men. I destroyed you and recreated you to be what I wanted, a white sissy bitch. Own who you are, just like I own you.” Somehow, she understood that they were words of empowerment and she turned to face Gerald and lowered her asspussy on his erection.

She remembered everything I taught her. She worked her pussy and rode that hard shaft, squeezing it, milking it, and pumping her hips like an insatiable slut. Eric tried to fuck her so hard he tried to throw her off. She rode his cock like a cowboy rides a bucking bronco. The room reeked of sweaty man sex. She kept chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,“ over and over again.

I could tell that Eric was close and I grabbed Stacy’s cock and stroked it no more than three times and she erupted, shooting hot cum in the air. It landed on Eric’s washboard abs and he was furious. “Bitch, look what you did! Lick that shit off of me you goddamn homo.” For the first time in the evening, Stacy was given a task she couldn’t do. She’d been reprogrammed to detest the cum of white men. In her head, she wasn’t a white man anymore; she’d truly become a sissy slut, a feminized bitch. There was something else however that made her repulsed by the thought of having to lick the cum of what she hated most, a white man. It was in that moment that she started to cry like a bitch, sobbing uncontrollably at the request that made her come face to face with her own self-hatred.

“Fuck me some more,” she demanded, “give me some more cum.” She got on her knees and pulled open her abused asscheeks to reveal her swollen and red rosebud. “Come on, fuck me. Pump your hot cum in me, Fuck me. I need more cum. I need more cocks. I had the guys get dressed and leave while I attended to Stacy, trying to calm her down until she fell asleep on the floor, fucked and exhausted.

It’s been a week since the party. Stacy has been calling me around the clock. I’ve had no choice but to ignore her calls because I’m on to my next project and this time, at least he’s reasonably attractive.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

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

Minority Affairs

When the alarm on his Blackberry went off, reminding him of his 3:00 appointment, Kevin Reynolds was almost tempted to reschedule. He was all the way on the other side of town at a meeting with a real estate developer at a construction site. With traffic, it would take him no less than twenty minutes to get back to his office and he would be rushed. As fate would have it, the fortuitous winds of destiny were blowing, and keeping that particular appointment would be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Kevin’s job as the Business Development Coordinator for the City of Sausalito, California had him on the go constantly. Part of his job responsibility was developing minority business for the city. He was so entrenched, so consumed with the demands and rigors of his position that he’d forsaken any attempts at trying to maintain a social life. That would have been a sad state of affairs for most people but for Kevin, it was really just an inconsequential byproduct of having his dream job. Given his recent forays in the romance department, he really didn’t mind. Lucky in love was not a saying that could be used about his love life as of late. It wasn’t as if he bad looking, at 6’ tall with black hair and blue eyes, was very handsome but he was maybe a little too much of a nice guy to be considered edgy in today’s dating pool. He’d heard the infamous, “I think we should just be friends” speech too many times to count. He’d expanded his dating pool to women of color in the past few years and he was comfortable with that but he hadn’t been able to form anything long-term thus far. Timing is everything and his job was just taking up too much of his time for dating. Nevertheless, he loved his work and he was enthusiastic, no passionate about attracting the sorts of businesses to Sausalito that would benefit the residents and the community as a whole.

Exactly on time, with a minute or two to spare even, his appointment was waiting in the reception area as he introduced himself and asked for a few minutes grace period to put his things down and get situated. “You must be Ms. Jenkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, the City Manager, Mr. Gold, I think you’ve already met with him . . . he gave me some preliminary information on your venture and I’ve done some prep work in anticipation of our meeting and I just want to go over a few things before we meet.”

Sylvia Jenkins stood to respond, extending her hand as an act of civility and yet igniting a spark that would fan the flames of unspoken passion. She was breathtaking, nothing less than abso-fucking-lutely, stunningly, insanely gorgeous, and Kevin was caught off guard momentarily with her grace, charm, and style. At 5’4” tall, with skin the color of bronze and almond-shaped eyes that danced with light, she was the epitome of Black beauty. Her hair was a mane of flowing dreadlocks adorned with beads that were twisted and piled on her head in some sort of creative crown-like hairstyle that defied gravity and the laws of physics. Her full, sensual lips parted to respond but the words were momentarily lost on Kevin because he was captivated by the sexy pout and the shiny lip-gloss that accentuated the most perfect smile he’d ever seen. Wearing a white cotton blouse that would have been conservative on most women, hers wrapped around and sort of had ties in the back or something that gave just a hint at a very, VERY, voluptuous cleavage. It wasn’t unprofessional, like a stripper inappropriately showing off her new set of triple Ds, it was just sort of a declaration of her womanhood. A long denim skirt that went to the floor and hugged her undeniably round bottom and full hips completed her outfit. She wasn’t fat; she wasn’t even heavy set. She was just the sort of woman that was blessed with heavenly curves in ALL the right places.

She smelled like an exotic combination of flowers and tropical fruit that was subtle yet intoxicating. She wore an arm-full of copper bracelets that made a sort of musical sound as she moved her hand. Her skin looked like it was the most expensive chocolate-colored silk that had been imported from a distant land. Even after taking in all the details of this exquisite woman in a split second, Kevin was able to pull himself back together and remain professional enough to hear her say, “Take your time, it’s not a problem.”

Her venture was an exciting one for the city of Sausalito. She was opening a cyber café/gallery/bistro right downtown. It was the perfect location and the concept was complex but genius in its simplicity at the same time. She was attempting to create a space where people could come, explore unique African imports for sale in a hands on environment, have some dessert, drink some herbal tea if that was to their liking, connect to the net, and even have some space where she could offer various classes and workshops taught by artisans and talents from around the country for two or three week at a time. The meeting went seamlessly as Kevin walked her through the final paper work that she would need for her project, assuring that there would be as little red tape as possible with permits and licenses and the many steps it required to have such an intricate business plan.

It was also a venture that would have the two in constant communication for several months. An artist herself, Sylvia wanted to have a residential space in the space above her storefront that could house the various instructors she wanted to come and teach for a few weeks at a time, that could be used as a studio, and a place for her to crash when she didn’t want to go home. That meant putting in a kitchenette, a shower, and getting residential permits. That required a whole ‘nutha set of paperwork to process and deadlines that couldn’t be missed and just the sort of red tape that Kevin was expert at circumventing. He was there to help her every step of the way and he made the process seem effortless, shielding her from the tedium every chance he got and going above and beyond to make things flow smoothly. He wasn’t doing it to try to gain points or seduce her. He was simply doing his job and being true to his nature to be a gentleman.

Sylvia was appreciative yet professional. On more than one occasion, he would stop by the storefront at 7 or 8 at night, after a long day of his own; only to find Sylvia painting or unpacking boxes herself. He never even inquired if she had a boyfriend, a girlfriend, he never asked if she dated interracially, he never asked about any aspect of her personal life. He kept their interaction professional yet her beauty mesmerized him each and every time he laid eyes on her.

The grand opening of Mombasa was an event like none other. Kevin stopped by to congratulate her and wish her well. The place was filled to capacity with an eclectic mix of people; there were spoken word artists, drummers, reflexologists, and curious passers by who tasted some of the delicious desserts that were being given out for free. “I want to thank you for all the help you gave me during this entire process. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sylvia said, as she kissed Kevin on the cheek and quickly disappeared into the crowd to mix and mingle as she beamed with excitement.

It would be several weeks before he spoke to her again. Having put her project to bed, Kevin was deeply engrossed in his next project and pouring himself into work as usual. He was pleasantly surprised when he answered his phone to hear Sylvia say, “The Chamber of Commerce is holding that black tie fundraising event at the Crowne Plaza on Saturday night and I was wondering . . . I didn’t know if you . . . I was thinking . . . “

Sensing her unease, Kevin cut her off, “Oh, are you going to that thing too? I was going to make an appearance. I can stop by and pick you up if you want to carpool.” Regretting his choice of words, not wanting to sound like he was being too aloof, he quickly amended it to say, “I’d love for you to be my date if you would do me the honor. It would be my distinct pleasure to accompany you.” He was thinking on his feet because prior to that very minute, he’d never even known that she might have had a personal interest in him. He wasn’t even sure she did have an interest in him romantically, all he knew was she was fine as hell and if she wanted to go to a formal affair with him, there was no way he was going to say no.

For Kevin, the evening was alive with potential. He bought a new suit for the occasion and had flowers for Sylvia when he picked her up at Mombasa. She was even more breathtaking than usual, attired in an evening gown that accentuated her body to perfection. “Wow, you look fantastic,” was all he could say, rendered essentially speechless by her beauty.

“Thank you,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek for the second time since their meeting, this time it seemed to linger a bit longer than the first time. She did a twirl and showed off her outfit and said, “Shall we go?”

For Kevin, the evening was an extension of work, introducing movers and shakers to policy makers and trying to coordinate deals outside the office. He as shaking hands with everyone and he didn’t really have as much time as he wanted to spend with Sylvia. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it just seemed that every time he set out to focus solely on her, someone would interrupt and he would go back into Business Development Coordinator mode. Several of his co-workers were giving him slaps on the back and nods and winks, implying that they had no clue that he was dating a Black woman, and such a hot one at that.

“Excuse me Miss, you look rather lonely sitting there, would you care to dance?” That was Kevin’s chivalrous attempt at adding a little romance to the evening as he extended his hand and wanted to show Sylvia that he appreciated her being so tolerant of him being pulled in so many different directions during the evening. Sylvia didn’t mind being left alone. She liked watching Kevin do his thing. It was part of the reason she was attracted to him. She was attracted to his understated power and efficacy at what he did for a living.

On the dance floor, everyone else seemed to fade away. Kevin held her close and ran his hands up and down her back. For the first time in months, he was reminded of his dormant sexuality as he could hear gentle moans of pleasure emanating from Sylvia as they sort of swayed to the music. For the rest of the night, he paid attention exclusively to her. They talked and laughed and seemed to emit a signal that they were not to be interrupted for business or any other reason. As the night wore down to a close, he offered to take her back to her car and call it an evening.

“You never saw the complete finished product,” Sylvia said as Kevin escorted her to her car. “If you have a few minutes, come inside and I want to give you the grand tour, considering you were so instrumental in helping me.”

He really couldn’t have cared less about the tour. He wasn’t being rude; it’s just that he was captivated by the way Sylvia’s ass moved in that dress and when she walked in those high heels. He mumbled, “That looks nice,” more than a few times, not really mentioning that he wasn’t talking about the various pieces of art or the décor of her establishment.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Would you like to see the upstairs portion? It turned out fantastic.” Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up a back staircase. Kevin was expecting something close to a sparse dorm room with a futon, a cook top, and a half fridge, but what he saw looked like a beautiful showroom. It was decorated in beautiful fabrics and colors, there was artwork all around and lovely touches that made it feel like a home.

“You did all this yourself? It looks fantastic! I should have known that if you were going to do anything you were going to do it well.” While intended it to be innocent, there was a sexual undertone to the comment that was felt by both.

“If you only knew, sir,” Sylvia replied, and winked to acknowledge the chemistry that was tangible. “Would you care for a glass of wine, you don’t have to go now, do you?” She offered graciously but she was prepared for him to decline her offer.

“I don’t mind if I do, thanks,” taking off his jacket and making himself comfortable on the cozy loveseat. After the second glass of wine, and even more conversation, the two began to get a little more comfortable with each other. Before either of them realized it, it was 3 in the morning. It

Being a gentleman, he rose, saying, “I better get home. Will you be okay staying here for the evening or would you prefer I call you a cab to get you home? I don’t want you driving. I’ll leave my car here and come get it in the morning, well, I’ll come get it in a couple of hours since it’s already morning.”

Taking his hand in hers, she said, “You don’t have to go.” There was a moment of silence when they both knew what was about to happen but didn’t dare say anything to break the spell. She stood and faced him. Time stood still for an instant and he tilted her face to his and they kissed.

Things certainly went from zero to sixty, but it took quite some time to get there. Both Sylvia and Kevin took their time, exploring each other’s bodies, and capitalizing off of each second of sensual pleasure. They kissed for what seemed like hours on that little loveseat. He wouldn’t be rushed so Kevin kissed and licked her neck, finding her hot spot and making her moan in pleasure. He licked her ears and whispered the sorts of naughty things he wanted to do to her. She would respond by spreading her legs and grinding her body in time with his. Her hands roamed freely over his back, caressing him and unbuttoning his shirt at the appropriate intervals.

At some point, her dress ended up on the floor and Kevin could do nothing but stare in amazement. She was more perfect than he had ever imagined. Her beautiful breasts were round and full and capped off by the most delicious, dark, suckable nipples he’d ever seen in his entire life. Her tiny waist held a belly chain that lay softly on her hips and sparkled in the moonlight. Her big ole booty was what made women envious and men weak with lust. Kevin was no exception and he found himself wanting to just start at her pretty pink toenails and kiss and lick his way up her whole body.

That’s exactly what he did in fact, well, that’s what he started out to do. Laying her down on the bed for more room to stretch out and get comfortable, he began exploring her body with his mouth. He parted her soft, brown thighs and couldn’t believe his eyes. Her pussy was magnificent and it was all he could do not to just dive right in and devour her. Her inner pink lips opened to reveal themselves like a beautiful orchid. He gently rubbed the tip of his finger over her exposed and hardened clit and he saw her body respond to his touch. She arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning and encouraging him to go further.

Inserting his finger in her hole, he could feel her slippery, wet juices flowing freely. She responded with more moaning this time but she was more vocal. “Oh Kevin, eat my wet pussy. Lick it. Suck me. Make me cum in your mouth. Don’t tease me; stick your tongue in me. Put my clit in your mouth and lick it.”

Kevin didn’t disappoint and he ate her pussy like it was better than the five star meal they had earlier in the evening. Sylvia didn’t stop. “Oh shit, that feels so good, yeah, fuck, eat me, don’t stop, eat me. Damn, I love the way you are working my hot, wet, pussy with your mouth, do you like the way I taste? I’m going to nut all in your mouth.” That was just what he wanted to hear and he went into overdrive to bring her to orgasm. She held his head to her pussy and wrapped her sexy legs around his head. She was grinding on his mouth, using him, fucking his face. Noticing that she wasn’t saying much, he looked up only to see her sucking her own nipple.

Kevin was blown away by how sexy she looked in the moment and stood up and took off the rest of his clothes and straddled her body. He pushed her tits together and cradled his cock between the soft mounds of flesh. The contrast in skin color almost made him blow his load right there. He pinched her nipples gently and began thrusting his white dick between her brown breasts. Sylvia was not one to be passive and she started licking the head of his cock, sucking it between her soft, full lips.

Leaking precum, he grabbed the shaft of his cock and fed it to her, feeling her hot, wet mouth envelop him as she swallowed him. He let her control the pace and she used her mouth like a vacuum, trying to suck the cum from his nuts. There wasn’t much time for a blowjob, as sensual and as hot as it was, because Sylvia was encouraging him to go further. “Fuck me, Kevin. Pump your cock in me. I want to feel you inside me.”

That’s just what he did. Flipping her over, he positioned her on her knees. He took another taste of her pussy from behind, teasing her delicious asshole with his tongue this time and getting ready for the ride of a lifetime. He grabbed his cock and lined it up with her hole. The heat was intense and he could feel the muscles of her pussy walls grabbing him before the head was even inside. He held her hips and pushed forward, hearing her cry out. Once completely inside, she looked back and said, “Fuck me, Kevin, fuck me.” And that’s just what he did.

He pumped his engorged cock in and out of her wet, hot pussy. He stroked and thrust and drove every single inch of his hard meat inside her. She was going wild, chanting and moaning and begging for more. Her full ass was wiggling and bouncing up and down and the wet sounds of sex filled the small room as he kept pounding her. He was a man on a mission. He was intent on satisfying this incredibly sexy woman but he wanted to pour himself into the passion that he’d been denying himself for so long. He fucked her harder. She moaned louder. He could feel the cum in his nuts boiling up. He looked down to see his white cock glistening with her juices as she cried out, “I’m cumming, oh shit, I’m cumming.” He couldn’t hold back any longer and he pulled out and shot his cum on her ass.

They cuddled together until the late afternoon, waking and showering and doing it all over again. Six months later, the couple was still going strong, Mombasa was doing quite well and Kevin was even happier and fulfilled in his job, having found the balance that made his life quite content. Every day, at 3:00, he had a standing appointment to send Sylvia a text message letting her know that he was thinking about her and that she was his first priority.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Plantation Lullabies

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