The End of an Era

At different points in our lives we have to examine ourselves and our motivations and decide if we need to change who we are.  Today is that day for me.  For the better part of 15 years or so, I’ve been a Domme.  I am what is referred to as a lifestyle Domme meaning I do not do it professionally but merely for the pleasure and joy I receive from it personally.  More specifically, I am a psychological Domme, meaning I have no desire to inflict pain on anyone, I don’t want or need anyone to do stupid tasks to prove my superiority.  My arousal, my very physical and sexual arousal comes from getting in a sub’s head and fucking with the wiring, making him disoriented, altering his perceptions and his core beliefs.  I take what is arousing and a turn-on for submissives and I use that, I manipulate that in order to get them to a place of arousal where they are more open and receptive to the reality of their true, inherent inferiority.  If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 100 times.  I do not believe in nor am I proponent of theories of Black or female supremacy but I am Black, female, and infinitely superior.

I have been open and very honest about my domination in my blog and in my AfroerotiK travels for many, many years.  I’ve been open and honest about all of my growth as a person, my sexuality, I have no secrets.  I don’t hide my identity.  I have ONE profile name on every site.  I have never created a fake profile or tried to obscure my identity for any reason.  I have created podcasts discussing all sorts of topics openly and very honestly, and I have written extensively about my personal revelations.  What I do not do is write about my specific submissives and the experiences I have with them.  I feel like if they trust me enough to give me a part of themselves that is so intimate and scary, the very least I can do is keep their experiences between them and I.  I personally have nothing to be ashamed of, however, because I am not at all ashamed of what I do.  I exploit white men’s inherent racism, their fallacious sense of superiority, and their submissive sexual desires in order to make them face harsh realities they might not otherwise experience but by my hand. 

I have been very vocal about ONLY dominating white men.  I do not dominate men of color, any color, because society is set up to oppress them and I will not contribute to that.  I do not and will not ever see Black men as inferior to me.  Even if they are less advantaged than I am, I do not see them as inferior.  I see them for who and what they are: men who have been denied equal access to education, employment, and who have had to compensate in a very racist society by adapting to their environment.  I know that if they had been given the same advantages in education and in society that I have been given, that the strength, beauty, and inherent will of the Black man to excel would, in fact, make them my equals. 

I do not, will not, and have never dominated a woman, any woman.  I have had two or three occasions to have sexually explicit chats with white women and there was clearly blurred lines with domination and submission but I did not have any desire to dominate them.  I am a woman.  To do what I do to a woman would be akin to criminal in my mind.  Even though I don’t feel a sisterhood with white women like I do with women of color, I still respect that they are their struggles have to mirror my own at some point on the spectrum of life and it’s a rule I am very comfortable keeping. 

I have had some wonderful subs over the years.  I can truly say that I have cared for each of them in some way.  Some helped me grow as a Domme, others simply served as toys to express my sexuality.  I have turned down more offers from submissive white men than can be counted.  There was a time when I would get no less than 10-15 different offers from white men a day, every day, 365 days a year, for the better part of half a decade.  My standards are strict but so is my play.  I play hard.  I take no prisoners and I’m pretty unapologetic about it.  I have crafted and created plans specific to each of the subs who have belonged to me.  I have had a few occasions to have one-night stands if you will with submissive white men and with very few exceptions, very few indeed, they have all been pleasant experiences. 

I remember my first foray into domination.  I was completely unaware of anything to do with the BDSM world.  The gentleman who had been pursuing me romantically didn’t say anything about wanting to be submissive at all.  It was not until he was kneeling on the ground in downtown Atlanta, loudly proclaiming for all the midday passersby to hear, that he would do anything for my forgiveness.  Eventually, he would end up in the middle of my living room floor, weeping with joy and exasperation at the trials I put him through.  I was a different woman after that night.  I knew that I could, with my superior intellect and reasoning, get white submissives to a place where I could manipulate their sexuality and their sense of belonging.  I knew that I could hold a dirty mirror up to white men and reveal to them the pathological and deep-seated racism that they seem incapable of acknowledging. 

I studied their behaviors, their responses, their core beliefs and it was apparent that submissive white men held very much the same twisted and disturbed desires to some degree.  Some white men were creepy, some were simple, most were simply self-centered and didn’t give a damn about me, only their fantasy of being submissive to some sassy Black bitch.  Some, the intelligent, serene, worldly ones, I respected and appreciated.  Others, rich, arrogant, and racist, I enjoyed toying with and breaking and throwing away like trash. 

Over the years, I have had coffee and/or drinks with dozens of submissive white men for their applications to belong to me.  Most were painfully average.  White men who no one would think or believe would have submissive desires, middle-class, average white men who were not spectacular, remarkable, or memorable in any way told me that they would do anything for me.  Most, I knew I would never hear from them again, others I knew that they were too one-dimensional to truly grasp that what I would do to them was so entirely devastating, so extreme and cruel, and they were too oblivious to know that they were way in over their heads.  Others, I would think there was potential, that they would be great submissives but they were just too disconnected from the truth, their desires were too compartmentalized.  You see, it’s one thing to sit in front of a computer and pretend and fantasize that you are a depraved slutty pig who will do anything, it’s quite another to live the reality.  Most white men fantasize in extremes.  They want to be the gangbang whore at a party.  Apparently, white men think that Black women frequently sit around at parties where we piss on white men for amusement.  Or they want to be passed around, having unprotected sex with black men with 12 inch dicks. 

White men always act offended and outraged when I suggest that those fantasies, were just that, fantasies and that what I would do to them would be extreme but never insane or dangerous.  When they’re horny, you can’t reason with them; with their dicks in their hands, they swear that they will do anything.  When the reality of their lives resumes in the light of day, they compartmentalize, deny, and run away for months.   They can’t deal with the fact that I might actually be able to transform them to the thing that they want to be secretly.  They run in fear because they know that if they were to submit to me, it would no long be just a fantasy but that I would turn their fantasies into their greatest fears. 

I’ve written many times about the commonalities of submissive white men.  Their behaviors are pretty consistent and delusional.  They are adept at compartmentalizing their sexuality in ways that not one Black person I’ve ever met, as disconnected and detached from any sort of healthy grasp of sexuality as we are, has ever come close to.  White men have a level of arrogance, of entitlement, a belief that they are beyond reproach in a way that is highly disturbing. 

There have been a few white subs I haven’t been able to break.  One, I groomed for five years and he would run away every time we met.  He was so warped he made up a wife that never existed.  I wish I could say he was the only one but he was far from the only one who did that.  White men want to have an excuse, an out.  They actually think that I will fall in love with them or that I will stalk them.  It’s part of their delusion, they think that I would covet and want them, that I will somehow inflict myself into their life, that I will need them to complete me.  I’m patient, extremely patient in fact, and I have had subs who kept coming back time and time again only to get close to the day when I would dominate them, with or without a partner, and they would disappear for several months.  They always come back.  ALWAYS. 

Racism is a mental disease.  Couple that mental disease with the overwhelming desire to submit to Black sexuality, and the need to be racist and offensive in public and private circles to maintain the status quo, to maintain the image that they hate blacks when you in fact they lust after us, when they have done absolutely NO work to rid themselves of their racist beliefs and their inherent sense of superiority, and you have the recipe for internal conflict that sets the stage for white men acting like assholes.  I have experienced far more of that than I would like to.  Obnoxious, arrogant, offensive . . . I’ve seen it all.  I love the ones that say, “Well, if you were truly superior, you could break me of being an asshole.”  White men are racist, mentally ill, they are deluded in their beliefs that they are superior.  Me being superior has nothing whatsoever to do with making them realize the ways of their profound assholery and making them change.  My superiority has to do with my ability to see and recognize their behaviors for what they are and not lowering myself to their sickness but rather staying confident, secure, and sane in my walk on this earth, speaking truth to power, and being the gifted visionary I was born to be. 

I haven’t done that.  I have slipped and fallen and I can’t get up.  I have let a sub and his mental illness break my spirit and my will.  It is for this reason, after deep reflection and self-examination, that I am announcing that I will no longer dominate white men.  I will no longer refer to myself as a Domme, I will no longer engage in any activities personally that require my interaction with white men and psycho-sexually dominating them.  I am not superior to mental illness and his has infected me.  I have wanted him out of my life for a decade.  He comes back, over and over and over again.  He feels entitled to insinuate himself into my life when he wants, how he wants, with no respect or regard for anything other than his own sick and twisted fantasies of being blackmailed and extorted and ruined.  He is a pathological liar.  He has broken my spirit.  I hate him.  I have never hated a sub before in my life.  They aren’t important enough in my life for me to hate.  I hate him in a way that lets me know that he has won, he has broken me.  If I could let him get to me the way he has, I know that it’s time for me to pack it up and move on to the next phase of my life. 

I dread coming to my blog every day; every day I dread the thought of seeing a comment from him.  I feel like I have to be careful what I write because I will incite him to bother and annoy the piss out of me again.  I can’t do that.  I can’t let a white man control what I write.  I gave him the opportunity to belong to me.  I opened myself up and said, “Hey, I obviously can’t get rid of him so I’ll just do what I do best and dominate him.” What an idiot I was.  I can’t dominate insanity.  I knew it was time for me to stop being a Domme when I actually prayed for his death.  When I let myself be that dysfunctional, all because a white man, it’s time for me to let it go.  I have to make peace with the fact that I will never be rid of him and I have to find a way to accept that and incorporate it into my life without the feelings of disgust, anger, and resentment that he has evoked in me. 

I will not dominate white men any more.  I have done it, enjoyed it, and it’s been a great ride.  Going forward, I will have to rethink seriously my involvement with interracial content.  I know that I must continue to write my own particular brand of interracial erotica.  I know that I have opened white men’s eyes, I know that I am the only voice who is approaching it in the way that I do.  I have plans for a series of interracial videos that are unlike anything that can be found on the internet today.  I know I must go through with them because I know I need Black people to see ourselves as truly superior, not just pawns, not just nigger sex objects to fulfill whatever dark continent fantasies white people have.  What I despise at this moment is that every time I come out with new content, I know I will be dragged back down into the abyss of this particular leech and his insane world where he is justified in all the twisted lies he tells, all the immature tactics to get my attention.  He will, as he has done repeatedly and consistently for the last decade, find reason to critique me, feign indignation, arrogance, and outrage towards me, and then sing my praises.  He’s done it since day one.  He’s so warped, he has created fake girlfriends, fake profiles, fake realities just to insinuate himself into my life. 

If I don’t come to some sort of peace dealing with the fact that I will never be rid of him, I will certainly self-destruct.  I want and need to distance myself from the sickness that is white male submission.  Their insanity isn’t questioned, challenged, or addressed in any sort of meaningful way and I am the only one doing so.  I have plans for all sorts of interracial events that will make white men come to terms with the dichotomy that is their racial love/hatred for Black folk.   I can’t even think about executing them because I know that each and every time I do, he will be there, in some way, inflicting himself into my life.  I PRAY for the day I will never hear from him again.  Sadly, I know in a matter of months, he will come back, again, and again, and again. 

Submissive White Men

It’s a topic so important that we have to do a follow up.  On our last show, we talked about the dynamics of individuals who are aroused by being called racial epithets during their intimate moments with partners of other races.  The last half hour of the show was dedicated to submissive white males and their agendas.  There just wasn’t enough time to go into the multi-layers of this HUGE phenomenon so we’re going to dedicate an entire show to peeling off the layers and exposing this trend, where it comes from, and what it all means.

On this show, we are going to be exploring the different types of submissive white men, what it  means to Blacks in a racist society to have so many white men sexually submissive, what impact does this trend have on our culture, why this trend has remained so hidden in plain sight, and we will hear from the mouths of submissive white men and Black dominants who will tell all their secrets.  Join us for this fascinating conversation that will surely open your eyes and make you rethink everything you know. 

Listen to internet radio with AfroerotiK on Blog Talk Radio

Black Bondage Submissive

This is NOT my image.  I repeat, this is NOT an AfroerotiK image.  I thought I would post it because I know that I don't give nearly enough energy to submissive Black women and their needs. I thought it was a really well-done image.  (It should also be noted that I have these exact same shoes and they are soooooo incredibly uncomfortable that it's insane.  Cute, but comfortable . . . not so much.)  Sorry, I don't have any sort of story or snipet or excerpt to post with the image.  I just can't perpetuate the oppression of women of African descent.  I acknowledge your right to have submissive fantasies and act them out in any way you see fit but I can't bring myself to eroticize Black women being objects.  We have so little power as is, I can't, in good consciousness perpetuate or facilitate our domination.  For those that like this particular genre, ENJOY. 

True Ebony Queen(ing)

Suck it!

I hesitated posting addition pictures from this particular photo shoot for several reasons.  First and foremost, I couldn't be less interested in dominating white men at this point in my life.  I'm in a relationship, I'm happy, we are working things out and domination is the last thing on my mind.  Second, the images aren't the usual AfroerotiK quality.  They weren't taken by my regular photographer but by my boyfriend, and while he has a great eye, he has never done anything like erotic photography before and it can be very intimidating.  He was nervous, it was new for both of us, so they are interesting images but not breathtaking images.  Lastly, I want to believe that the vast majority of my fans are people of color interested in my commentary and stories on Black love and sexual expression, not the domination and submission of white men.  I love that fact that there may be lots of Black people who are aroused by the concept of seeing white men dominated, and it pleases me to no end to be able to provide images of that sort to Black people, solely for our enjoyment, I also don't expect that there are as many Black people into dominating white folks as there are white men who are desperate to submit to us Black folks.  I do realize, however, that a huge part of my fan base are white men who are interested in being submissive to Black sexuality.  So, in the interest of being as transparent and as truthful as I know how to be, here are a few more images.  

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