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

Showing posts with label whiteboi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whiteboi. Show all posts

Friday, September 16, 2016

LWC or the Little White Cock

I have a theory. Trump and all his supporters are CLEARLY, IRREFUTABLY insane. No question about it, period, the end. Their insanity is accepted as the norm and the media and society as a whole dismisses, ignores, rationalizes and debates their talking points as if they have actual validity, as if they are worthy of consideration as valid. What if . . . their mental instability is a result of them all being deficient anatomically, or more accurately, they are mentally ill because they have anger, frustration, jealousy and envy for anyone who threatens their perceived manhood and power because they measure less than average below the belt. 

Wait, follow me here. Let's suppose that the individuals who are the most virulent racists, the ones who feel the most emasculated by powerful women, the ones who are so desperate to go back to the good old days when niggers knew their place and women stayed at home are the ones who are the most frustrated by their lack of manhood. I think it's very reasonable to assume that because they feel so lacking in the genital department their psyches have compensated with their rampant xenophobia, racism, bigotry, and sexism that has gone unchecked in this country for centuries.

It makes sense if you think about it. Society equates manhood with dick size. The smaller their junk, the more power hungry they are in an effort to compensate for how inadequate they feel as "real men". The more delusional they are, the more limp their equipment is. The individuals who have made policy in this country since its inception are the one who have had the least impressive Popsicle sticks. The women who support Trump are the women who have been left frustrated by their spouses inferior equipment. If they've never had a thorough sexing in their lives, if the most they've ever had is a woefully inadequate 30 second hump, that would make any woman crazy. Certifiably so.

My theory might seem fringe to a sexually repressed society but let's take a look at the men who are conducting the Republican crazy train. Trump, Guliani, David Duke . . . does anyone believe for a fraction of a second that they have more than three or four inches below the belt? It's not that much of a leap to think that the individuals who support Trump are similarly handicapped. They hate Obama because they think he has a big black dick. They hate Hillary because they think she is trying to cut their nuts off. And the rest of sane society is left to integrate their insanity into our lives as the norm.

Just think about it.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Queening for a Day

There are some individuals who believe that coincidence can be explained away by logical explanations.  There is a certain comfort in life when one supposes that everything can be calculated and replicated.  Bret Matthews lived his life that way; he was methodical and premeditated with everything he did, with how he interpreted every experience in his world.  It wasn’t until he found himself being challenged and pushed to beyond his limits, in a situation where he had no power over his lusts and no will of his own to assert, that he learned what it meant to be truly free in the confines of mental enslavement.  

Spring is meant to be experienced outside, enjoying the flowers and the sunshine and all the things that contribute to nature’s ability to elevate hormones and arouse lust.  There was something amiss, some sort of itch, a longing perhaps that was gnawing at Bret’s psyche, tugging at his spirit.  Feeling all the effects of the change in season, he decided that he would forego his usual lunches in the food court with co-workers and dine alfresco in solitude.  He felt a need to be alone, to observe his surroundings, to meditate on life and its meaning while absorbing a little Vitamin D and fantasizing about his perversions.  

Lincoln Park provided the perfect backdrop for his midday musings.  He could sit and eat his brown bag lunch and watch all the people go by.  Technically, it wasn’t really a brown bag, it was a white bag filled with amazing food from a little gourmet shop that made the best sandwiches and salads in town.  Moreover, he wasn’t really concerned with watching all the people go by, just the ones with breasts and brown skin.  If warm weather had him feeling naturally horny, it was exacerbated by the fact that the change in climate made Black women come out of hibernation and start wearing more form-fitting clothing and open-toed shoes.  Bret had a fascination if you will for the exquisitely manicured tootsies of Black women but that was not his primary fetish.  Bret had a love for the shapely butts of women blessed with only what could be termed, Afrocentric behinds.  He loved everything about them: the way they moved and jiggled when they walked, the way they filled out a particularly tight pair of jeans or swayed beneath a skirt, he loved big, round, sexy black asses.  Discretely, he would watch as they walked by, imagining what those fabulous brown asses looked like with no clothes on, what they smelled like, and of course, what they tasted like.  There was nothing not to love about his midday excursions because he could get out, sit in the sun, and get more than enough fodder for his fantasies.  It was a helluva lot better than sitting around talking about boring work stuff with his colleagues.  

Being a creature of habit, Bret pretty much sat on the same bench every day.  One day, feeling like he needed to stretch his legs a bit and explore other sights, he ventured out to explore more of the park.  That day, he felt compelled to change his vantage point to see what else the world had to offer.  As luck would have it, he stumbled upon a pavilion with chess tables set up and people standing around watching the games.  As is usual for most public parks, there were homeless Black men stationed at each table, schooling white boys who were looking for diversions from their mundane lives on their lunch breaks as well.  It seems like in every corner of the country, in every park, Black men who look like they haven’t bathed in months play skilled and strategic chess games.  This park was no exception save one small exemption.  

Seated at the end table was a young, Black woman with a petite frame and short, curly Afro.  She didn’t look like she was homeless; in fact, she looked like she could have been a college student.  As she stood up to stretch a bit, Bret could tell that she couldn’t have been more than 5’3” and if she weighed 125 pounds, 10 pounds of that has to be distributed evenly between her tits and her ass.  She was wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt with a drawing of the Statue of Liberty depicted as a Black woman with a raised fist that said, “Statue of Liberation” in bold, graphic printing.  Her 32D’s filled out that shirt perfectly.  Her complexion was smooth, like melted chocolate and her little round button nose fit her angelic face perfectly.  She had sexy, full lips that were highlighted with shiny, clear lip gloss and as she spoke, her tongue touched the bottom of her front teeth like she had a slight lisp.  

Bret wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what she was saying but he was close enough to watch her play her game.  She played like a master.  Bret was undone.  He needed to get back to work but he was transfixed to that spot, unable to move.  He was studying her every move, both her chess moves and her chest moves.  He made his way closer to her table but he didn’t dare approach her or talk to her.  It was clear she was the center of attention because women hardly ever played chess in open-air forums like this one and everyone took notice not only because of her striking beauty but also because she seemed unbeatable.  Chess was a man’s game and there were very few women whom Bret knew who were patient enough to learn the intricacies of the strategy or bother to play the game at all.  When he did meet women who were skilled players, he could beat them easily but he always dragged the game out and allowed them to win so as not to look like too much of an asshole and defer to his hidden desire to practice female superiority.  She looked up briefly and made eye contact with Bret and said, “Whose got next,” like she was a basketball player on the court taunting and teasing her opponents to an intellectual azz whuppin.  

Bret politely mouthed the words, “No thanks,” and made his way back to his office.  He was fine the rest of the afternoon, distracted with projects, details, and minutia.  It wasn’t until he was stuck in traffic on the way home that his mind started to race.  What normally should have been a 30 minute ride was taking forever and a day which led Bret to some dark and deviant ruminations.  He began to fantasize about the strange woman in the park, about her peeling off her incredibly tight jeans and revealing a pair of red satin panties.  Standing before him in nothing but those sexy panties and red, high-heeled shoes, Bret imagined that she bent over in front of him and lowered her undergarments down over the full, round asscheeks barely contained within.  She wiggled and flaunted that ass in his face, teasing Bret with it.  Pulling her cheeks apart, Bret dreamt that he could smell the heady aroma of her ass wafting from between those perfect, brown globes.  In his fantasy, he gently placed his nose near her sacred butthole and smelled her natural scents.  He was aroused and his cock was hard; he rubbed it through his pants to relieve the pressure and to add just the right amount of pleasure.  Just as he was about to place his tongue to her hole in his mind, traffic started moving and he was snapped back into reality.  

The next day at work it was all he could do to wait for his lunch hour.  He was preoccupied with thoughts of her and could barely concentrate on anything but visions of her ass.  Finally, around 11 a.m., he could take no more and he made excuses about somewhere he had to go, something he had to do, and stole away to head to the park.  Because it was earlier than the usual lunch hour, there were very few people in the park except some tourists, some preschool children’s groups, and some other people who were like him and escaping work and having an early, extended lunch.  The chess tables were all occupied but not with the lady with whom he’d taken an interest.  Today, rather than it being the homeless versus the white boys, it was simply Black man versus Black man, their residence, or lack thereof, not playing any role in their game.  Never before had he taken the opportunity to watch their moves so intently, to study their game and he wondered as to how someone who could master the analytical skills of chess could end up being destitute and anti-social.  He wondered how a woman who looked so out of place among those men could be comfortable around them, around their smells and clearly brash and rebellious demeanors.  

“Are you going to play today?”  Bret froze momentarily as he felt the presence of someone next to him, dangerously close, invading his space, practically touching his arm.  Without looking, he knew it was her.  Her voice was soft and melodic yet raspy and erudite at the same time.  

“No,” he mumbled, “I have to get back to work,” and he hurriedly left the park and spent the rest of the afternoon kicking himself for not taking her up on her offer.  In any other circumstance, Bret was confident, secure, he was never one to waffle or crumble under pressure.   He’d wanted to meet her, to talk to her but he choked under pressure.  

The next day, Bret kept his anxiousness in check and waited until noon to blend in with the rest of the crowd.  He didn’t go close this time, he watched from a distance.  She was there again and he could tell she was undefeated at her tenure at her table.  A few Black men, business men and workers from the neighboring office buildings, approached, played, and slinked away.  She wasn’t arrogant in her play but she didn’t seem to use much effort either.  White men seemed hesitant to approach her, like there was some invisible line that they knew not to cross, or dared not cross lest people see their hidden thoughts, their secret desires, their blatant yearning for her.  Bret was to be counted among that population.  He was content to watch from afar and observe.  Every day, his thoughts of her consumed more and more time.  His daily commute to and from work, his time at work and school were compromised by his fantasies.  At home alone, he masturbated to thoughts of her and when he was with his girlfriend Amanda, he was thinking of the mysterious woman as well.  

For five days straight, it seemed that Bret was in a constant state of arousal from someone to whom he’d never even spoken.  Everyone in the office was getting a little nosey, asking where he was rushing off to for lunch every day, implying that he had a secret life, that he was having an affair, just being generally obnoxious.  He was afraid someone might follow him so he had taken to using different routes to the park and stopping off at different locations first.  His paranoia was unjustified but he was so used to his life being compartmentalized, so fragmented that he compensated by being slightly neurotic.  If anyone ever found out that he was aroused by a woman’s butts, by fantasies of being smothered by them, he would die a thousand deaths.  In his heart, he just knew that he was the only one among his peers who had dark thoughts and fantasies like that.  

At lunch, he made his way to the park but he chickened out at the last minute, opting just to watch her play.  She saw him watching her and she stared back, letting him know that she was aware of his attraction to her.  He went back to the office feeling like a fool and later told everyone that had to leave about an hour early.  He made his way back to the park, practically running, hoping against hope that she would still be there.  As luck would have it, she was, casually talking and laughing with her homeless crew, talking like they were her peers.  Gathering his nerve, he made his way to her table and sat down.  “Finally,” she said, “what took you so long?”  

Uncomfortable with small talk, Bret gave her a half-hearted smile and ignored her comment.  “Black or white,” he mumbled. 

Laughing, she said, “Honey, I’m always Black.”  

Their game lasted almost an hour but he’d seen her win in four moves with other novice players.  It was a good thing that the game wasn’t timed because Bret had met his match and he was making him nervous, he made a few careless mistakes out of sheer anxiety.  Eventually, she was victorious again; remaining undefeated in all the games he had witnessed her play.  He felt drained yet satisfied in a way he’d never felt before.  Here was this petite woman, clearly more than just his equal, it was more than evident she was his superior.  His intellectual libido was stimulated beyond belief.  Throughout the game she didn’t say a word, she concentrated.  She watched him, studied his moves.  Bret was off his normal game but he knew that even at his best she still had the skills to beat him.  Of course it didn’t help that he was intellectually stimulated which made him partially erect.  

Pushing his chair back from the table, Bret extended his hand and said, “Great game, thanks so much.”  He’d wanted her to win but he never imagined that she could do it without him throwing the game.  Her skill set exceeded his which said a lot.  Her victory was real and he felt defeated but wildly alive for the first time in a long time as strange as that may sound.  

She reached out and shook his hand and replied, “Come on, let’s go.”

She grabbed her backpack and tossed it to him.  He clutched it close as he followed her, running to catch up when he realized exactly what her invitation was; watching her butt with every step that she took, hypnotized by her unspoken power over him.  They walked to a bus stop and Bret intervened, “I have a car,” but she ignored him.  They sat down and she turned to him and formally introduced herself.  

“I’m Shauntay, I was wondering when you were going to get up the nerve to come talk to me.  You really played a great game.  You had me in check that one time and I was thinking that you might end my reign as Queen of the park.  What’s your name?”

In a million years, Bret never would have imagined a woman named Shauntay would be able to beat him at chess.  To him, Shauntay was a ghetto name and people from the ghetto . . . well, it didn’t even have to be said.  There was nothing ghetto about this woman and as he repeated her name over and over in his head, it began to sound lyrical, beautiful, not at all ghetto.  Realizing he hadn’t answered her question, he blurted out, “I’m Ted,” always thinking of protecting his identity, never wanting anyone to get to know the real him.  Thinking it over, realizing that he might just be in the presence of the woman who could take him places he’d never been, he said, “I’m sorry, I lied.  My name is Bret.”  Still not quite sure he was up to the witty repartee stage of conversation just yet; he remained silent, waiting for her reprimand.  None came but the bus did and they got on.  He didn’t know where they were going, what they were doing; he just knew that he would do just about anything she asked of him.  She was brazen, well, not so much brazen as she was bold.  Shauntay caressed his body, felt for muscles, caressed his leg and openly stared at the erection she was causing him.  The blood boiled in his veins as other passengers watched this open display of groping and Bret was helpless to do anything about it.  He loved it and secretly wished she would go even further.  

Shauntay kept asking more and more questions, eventually bringing Bret out of his shell as they rode.  Every once in a while, she would lean close and whisper sweetly in his ear and send chills up and down Bret’s spine.  She was equally as forthcoming, sharing details about her life.  It turned out that she was 33, which he would have never guessed because she looked almost a decade younger than that.  She was getting her Ph.D in Physics which intrigued Bret that much more.    

As the got off the bus, Bret was in another world.  This was out of his comfort zone; this couldn’t be explained by any reasonable construct.  He was following a total stranger to God only knows where to do God only knows what.  No one knew where he was, he hadn’t explained his absence to anyone.  His heart was pounding.  Bret was terrified that she was going to do something crazy or unhinged but he clearly outweighed her and towered over her.  He kept wondering why she wasn’t afraid that he was a psycho killer, why she wasn’t paranoid that he was going to do something unstable or psychotic to her.  She didn’t even have a cautious look in her eye.  In fact, she seemed to be the one that was comforting Bret.  

They reached her apartment, and still carrying her backpack, Bret blindly followed her up the stairs of a two story walk-up to her apartment.  She intentionally stopped short and Bret ended up face first in the seat of her pants.  He froze there, inhaling her scent openly, hoping to detect the stench of her asshole.  Shauntay wiggled her ass in his face, giggled, and opened the door to her home and invited him in.  

It was exactly as Bret had envisioned in his mind, it matched who he thought she was.  It was small, so tidy it would make any obsessive-compulsive jealous, and obviously occupied by an academic and an intellectual.  Shauntay excused herself and left Bret alone as he scoped the scene.  There was no TV in the living room and the bookshelves were lined with books about Black History, chemistry, art, travel, alternative medicine, and of course, physics.  Her music collection didn’t have any artists Bret recognized and the décor was simple and contemporary but accented with pieces that looked like they might have been inherited from an older family member.  “What are you writing your dissertation on, uhmmm, if you don’t mind me asking,” he yelled in the direction of the bedroom as he tried to gain further insight into her without getting caught while she changed her clothes.  

“The Instantaneous Quantum Teleportation of Information Across the Time and Space Continuum as it Relates to Members of the African Diaspora.”  She waited for the pause of dumbfounded silence that followed every time she told someone her topic, and sure enough, like clockwork, 8 . . . 9 . . . 10, he responded, “How did you master the art of playing chess?  And those guys . . . you seem . . . so . . . you know . . . comfortable with them . . . how . . .”  She didn’t answer.  

It all seemed too coincidental.  She was like a dream come true for him.  Most of what he knew of her concretely was learned in the last 45 minutes.  For a week, he’d fantasized about her, speculated, surmised but she was turning out to be more than he’d even allowed himself to contemplate.  Beauty, brains, the ability to control him with subtlety, and an ass that made his mouth water.  His mind couldn’t even makes sense of the fact that he was in this strange apartment, waiting rather impatiently for a women he didn’t know, for exactly what, he wasn’t sure.  

Emerging from her bedroom dressed in tight, leather, black pants, a corset that looked like she might have had two or three people in her bedroom helping her tie it so tightly, high-heeled, black patent leather boots that came up past her knees,  and a look on her face that inspired sheer terror in Bret.  Shauntay was carrying a riding crop in one hand and stood perfectly still so Bret could take in her image.  His jaw dropped.  She looked like a rare Ebony centerfold straight out of Obeah magazine (without the staples).  He jumped up and reacted almost violently.  “Hey, look, I don’t know who you think I am . . . or what you think I’m into, but you don’t know me.  I’m not . . . I don’t want . . . Don’t you dare presume that I’m . . . that this is something . . . that you can . . . you have assumed too damn much.”  He was flustered because he was undone by her complete ability to read him.  He felt trapped and angry but he wasn’t exactly sure why.  All he knew was that his chest felt tight, his knees felt weak, his mouth was dry, he’d lost the ability form complete sentences and he was wildly aroused, more than he’d ever been in his life.  He was out of his element and in a strange environment.  Taking a deep breath, he said, “Look, I appreciate your hospitality and thanks for the great match but I think I better be going.”  


She didn’t say another word, she didn’t make a move.  She motioned her eyes toward the front door and remained stoic.  Bret looked like a deer caught in headlights.  He didn’t want to go; in fact, he wanted desperately to stay, throw himself at her feet, beg for her forgiveness, and be subjected to her cruel punishments.  He wanted her to give him an ultimatum, to say something that would give him the chance to stay.  She walked to the door, opened it, and stood aside.  

“I . . . uhmmm,” he mumbled as he walked past her, too prideful to ask to say, feeling like an idiot for totally fucking up, “Great match.  Thanks.”  

He hailed a cab to take him back to his car and relived every second of the past week in his mind over and over again on his way home.  All weekend, he was withdrawn and quiet.  He made excuses to his friends why he couldn’t hang out and sex with Amanda was nothing more than perfunctory.  Every time he closed his eyes, however, he would see Shauntay.  He couldn’t sleep at night and Monday morning couldn’t come soon enough.  He watched the clock all morning long and made a beeline for the park.  Of course, she wasn’t there, and subconsciously, he knew she wouldn’t be.  He asked one of the homeless men if he’d seen her and waited around for almost two hours before going back to work.  All week long he went to the park; all week long, she wasn’t there.  He was beginning to get depressed, angry at himself for not throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance.  She intimidated him and that wasn’t a sensation he had ever truly experienced before.  

Bret began to fill his time at the park by playing the men there, talking to them, befriending them, observing their chess skills and speculating how they seemed to possess such amazing analytical skills but couldn’t get a job.  He saw the casual glances from white passersby who belied their true feelings of disgust when he would share his food with them.  Over the course of several weeks, he tried to convince himself that he was no longer going there to look for Shauntay but to engage in great chess with worthy competitors.  The truth was, he couldn’t imagine the day that he would stop looking for her, she’d made a huge impact on him and he was convinced he wasn’t going to be the same ever again.  

Deeply engrossed in a great game, he felt the breath of her words as she whispered in his ear, “Have you missed me?’  

Bret’s heart skipped a beat; the palms of his hands broke out in an immediate sweat.  It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to fall to his knees and show his devotion to her.   He wanted to forfeit the game but it wasn’t in his nature, and somehow, he knew that Shauntay would be displeased.   He continued playing, glancing around, looking for her but she had faded into the masses.  He knew she was there, watching him, he could feel her intense presence.  Just as with his first game with her, he was nervous, making stupid mistakes.  He lost.  He lost fair and square.  He scanned the crowd and saw her sitting on a bench about 50 yards away.  He approached cautiously and sat down, waiting for her to say something.   She didn’t utter a sound.

“You were right.  About . . . you know . . . you were right.  How did you know,” he queried, “about . . . me, about . . . you know.  How did you know that I would like that sort of thing?”

She moved closer, pressing her leg against his.  “I read you.”  The puzzled look on his face indicated that he needed a more in-depth explanation.  “Your game, the reverence you have for your queen, the way you protect her, it speaks volumes about you.  I can tell all sorts of things from the way you play.  You want people to see you as extraordinarily intelligent, but deep inside, you not only feel average, but there’s a part of you that feels unworthy, contemptible even. You are inherently submissive and you are drawn to that part of me that is inherently dominant.”

“There’s no way you can tell all that about me from watching me play chess,” he said indignantly. 
“Oh, really?  Am I wrong?”

It was Bret’s time to remain silent now.  He sat staring at the ground.  Every time he would look up, she would be staring at him.  There was communication in the silence.  So many things were unsaid, unarticulated.  None of that seemed to matter.  Finally, he said, “So, what now?” 

“Well, that would depend on what you want.”  Shauntay was a bit more aloof than Bret would have liked.  He wanted her to show interest in him, he wanted her to see him as different, to WANT to dominate him.  She stood up, dropped her backpack in his lap, and leaned in close, her lips close to his, like she was about to kiss him.  “I’ll see you later.” With that, she walked away, Bret’s eyes transfixed to her ass as she disappeared into the sunshine, gripping her bag like it sustained his life. 
That day after work, Bret took out his phone, called Amanda saying that he had to go out of town for the weekend for work, which was not at all unusual for him, and he drove to Shauntay’s apartment, backpack in hand.  He stood outside her building, terrified to go up but driven to cross the threshold into a new adventure.  He knocked, nervous and afraid.

“One moment, please.”  He heard her movements behind the closed door.

Bret waited what seemed like an eternity.  Finally she opened the door completely and stood before him and he literally gasped for air.  Shauntay was dressed, or barely dressed rather, in a bright turquoise lace bra that was doing a lousy job of containing her overflowing breast flesh.  Her matching garter belt sat atop her hips and the colorful straps went down her slender ebony legs and held her black, silk, lace-topped stockings in place.  Her small feet were encased in high-heeled black, patent leather pumps, tasteful and sexy.  The most striking feature of her outfit was the chocolate brown strapon protruding from her body.  At first glance, it appeared to be about 8 inches long and at least as wide as his wrist.  She stood there calmly, stroking it, taunting Bret.  He glanced nervously up and down the hallway, terrified that someone would see her, terrified that someone would see him standing there, practically salivating.  

“Welcome,” she said, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Bret wanted to say something to let her know that she wasn’t the one pulling the strings, that he was still in control of his actions, that he understood the dynamics of what was happening, no words would come out.  Her comfort level with being so open, standing where anyone who opened their door or came up the steps could see them, threw off his equilibrium.  He wasn’t in control; she was controlling the game.  He was a pawn and she a dynamic Black Queen Bitch.  He wanted to appear aloof but if she had commanded that he drop to his knees right there in the hallway and suck that dick, he would have done it without hesitation.  
“Come in.”
Bret stepped forward but she didn’t move to the side.  He had to squeeze past her; his body brushing up against hers, the strapon wedged tightly between their bodies as he made his way inside.  The room was lit with candles around the perimeter and the furniture had been moved out of the center, creating a void, a playroom essentially.  
“Undress!”  Her command was so simple and to the point it needed no further instruction.  
Bret removed his shoes and socks, placed them neatly under a chair in the corner.  He removed his shirt and then t-shirt, and took his took belt off completely, stalling.  He took off his watch and placed it in his shoes and hesitated for a second before he unzipped his pants.  She was staring at him, inspecting, him, objectifying him like a piece of meat, inspecting him like a slave on the auction block.  He lowered his pants and folded them neatly, maintaining the creases.  He slid his hand in his underwear and squeezed his cock before he slid them down his legs and stepped out of them and placed them neatly on the pile of clothing.  
Shauntay ran her soft hands over his body, caressing him, twisting his nipples causing him to stifle a small moan, rolling his balls between her fingers.  She stroked his cock, making him leak precum and turned him around and ran her fingertips gently over his butt.  She spread his asscheeks and softly rubbed the tight rosebud of his asshole.  This time, Bret couldn’t stifle his moans and bent over to give her more access, to show off his slutty nature.  He wanted her finger; he wanted to be penetrated.  That was not to be her next move.  
She grabbed his cock roughly and pulled him to the center of the living room.  She made him stand there as she circled him, stroking his cock to full erection and then rubbing her strapon against it.  “You like that big, black, dick, don’t you?”  Bret nodded.  “Answer me; let me hear you say it.” Bret mumbled in the affirmative but that was the best he could do.  He felt like he was high.  Shauntay pulled her breasts from the top of her bra, exposing her erect, dark, chocolate nipples.  She rubbed them on his torso and he knew better than to reach out and touch them, to drop to his knees and suck them like he longed to do.  She rubbed them sensually and then wet her finger and traced her areola.  She cupped his balls and squeezed them hard, making Bret cry out in pain and his knees buckle.  “I told you to ANSWER ME!”
Bret’s breathing was erratic.  She placed her hand on his shoulder and pressed gently, signaling that he was to kneel.  He was eye level with her fake dick and she rubbed it over his lips.  “Mmmmm, yes, I like that black cock.”  
“Now, Bret, is that any way to show your appreciation?  Now, tell me how much you love that dick, tell me how much you crave it.”  
Inspired to impress, Bret turned up the intensity.  “I love that big, black cock.  I want to suck you off, I want you to ram it in my throat, make me gag on it.  Make me worship it, make me worship you.” He began blowing that strapon like a cheap whore.  He made love to it with his mouth, licking, sucking, and swallowing it.  There was no denying he was enjoying himself as he moaned and drooled all over it.  He threw himself into his act, gagging and stroking it.  He reached around and placed his hands on her ass, filling his hands with her soft flesh.  That propelled him deeper into true sub space and he went even wilder on her strapon.  “Yeah, I’m a cock-sucking slut.  Give me that hard Black meat.  Fuck my face.  Mmmmm, yeah, I love your cock.”  All of his inhibitions were gone.  Bret was behaving like he’d always wanted; he was free, free from restrictions, free from societal constraints.  
“Bret?  Sweetie?  Did I tell you that you could suck my dick?”  She pushed him to the floor harshly but it wasn’t a deterrent to Bret, it was inspiration.
Making himself prone at her feet, Bret begged for her forgiveness.  He placed his lips on her stilettos and kissed them.  He ran his tongue over the smooth patent leather and pleaded.  “Please, forgive me.  I’m so sorry.  I was so overwhelmed with your beauty, your brilliance, your sheer power.”  Shauntay removed her shoe, kicking it to the side of the room, and waved her foot in Bret’s face.  She placed it gently on his lips and he inhaled deeply the aroma, the slightly musky, familiar scent of a sweaty foot that had been encased in leather.  It was more intoxicating than poppers for him and infinitely more arousing.  He wanted nothing more than to run his tongue over that foot.  Her toenails were painted a brilliant turquoise to match her lingerie but remained clearly visible through the reinforced toe of her silk stockings.  He licked her sole and then placed her entire foot in his mouth, as much as he could swallow.  He worshipped her foot, praising it, praying to it.
She kicked him hard in the side, sending him to the floor, curled in the fetal position.  Removing her other shoe, she circled him like a lioness circling her prey, the queen of the jungle stalking, surveying, ready to psychologically devour her helpless victim.  Bret’s heart was racing and his breathing was labored.  She rubbed her stockinged foot over his cock and balls.  The threat hung heavy in the air but remained unspoken that at any moment she could kick him in the nuts and make him scream out in agony.  Bret waited for what he was sure to come.  
To her credit, Shauntay prepared him for the evening of erotic torture.  “I own you now, you understand that, don’t you, Bret? You are mine to play with, tease and torture, to destroy in any way I see fit.  Your screams will be my music; your pleas for my benevolence will amuse and entertain me.  I will use your body for anything I see fit and you’ll beg for more.  I’ll allow you to be the filthy, disgusting, lower-than-human scum that you long to be, that you’ve been craving, needing to release inside you.  The need grows stronger each and every year, to be more perverse, to submit to a mistress so cruel, so diabolical that your mind reels with the creativity with which she degrades you.  I’m that mistress, Bret.  I’m the woman who will turn you into a pain pig, who will make you crave dicks, real dicks; big, hard, black dicks shoved in your tight, white pussy.”  
Bret rolled his eyes in arrogant disbelief.  “Oh, you don’t believe me, Bret?  You don’t think I can control your will, your desires?”  Her voice was soft, not annoyed or irritated and it was hypnotic, soothing, arousing.  “Well, I’ll let you have that today.  We are new, you and I; we haven’t worked out the dynamics of our relationship yet.  You don’t know me nearly as well as I know you.  When you get to know me, when you understand how mentally sadistic I can really be, you won’t disrespect me by rolling your eyes at me.  She continued, calmly this time, with her riding crop firmly in her hand.   Shauntay gently tapped the tip of it against Bret’s throbbing, leaking erection.  
“Turn over, on your knees.”  Bret complied swiftly.  Head down against the cool plastic, he stuck his ass in the air, proud to show off his slutty nature.  Shauntay rubbed the crop against his nut sack, up the crack of his ass.  “Bret, would you be shocked if I told you that I am going to shove ice cubes in your ass and watch you writhe in pain while you’re bent over like this?”  She spread the cheeks of his ass and rubbed her finger gently over his exposed asshole.  Bret wasn’t moved.  He wasn’t truly a masochist so the thought of pain didn’t really scare him.  “Well,” she persisted, “a little cold should be countered with a little heat.  You see, I have this chili paste that I’m going to apply to your cock and balls while those ice cubes are melting in your ass and you feel the burning, searing heat up and down the shaft of your cock.”  
Bret squirmed more.  He was intrigued by the sheer novel ingenuity of this powerful woman.  He wanted to belong to her; he wanted to be inflicted to her cruel punishments.  He was leaking precum as she continued to circle him, to tease him with her feet, rubbing them on his face, across his chest, jerking him off with her feet.  She caressed his body with her riding crop, her preferred instrument of punishment for the evening.  “Imagine that Bret.  Ice cubes shoved in your asscunt, excruciating heat spreading over your cock and balls.  I’m going to fuck you senseless, like the little bitch you are.  You understand?  Is that what you want Bret?  Is that the sort of torture you want to endure for me?  Your pathetic cock virtually ablaze, your intestines cramping in pain, and getting fucked with my beautiful strapon?”  
Bret was moaning uncontrollably now.  He was thrusting his ass in the air, desperate to be invaded by more than her fingers, silently shedding tears in fear of what he was becoming, what he was allowing happen to him.  “Oh, God, yessssss, I want that.  I want you to fuck me, use me, and punish me any way you see fit.”  
THWAPPP! The first blow of her riding crop came down on his balls without mercy and he cried out, scrambling away from the blinding pain.  
“Come back here bitch; get your ass up here.”  Bret assumed the position again.  This time, he felt the slippery head of her lubricated strapon rubbing sensually up and down his ass crack.  Bret forgot all about the pain in his testicles and he started humping back against that strapon, trying to get the head of it positioned so that she could take him; so she could enter him, make him her ass slut.  The head of that black dick felt amazing on his hole, in his soul.  Bret’s mind spun with new sensations.  He wanted to get fucked, to become an animal.  Shauntay gripped his hips and pushed.  The head of the strapon pierced his tight anal ring and Bret moaned out in pleasure and in pain.  Her ownership of him was complete.  There was no way he was going to let her out of his life.  In that moment, he knew he would suck any dick, swallow as many loads of cum as she demanded.  He heard himself chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, ram that black fucker deep in me, make me your bitch, make me your white sissy faggot. FUCK ME.  USE ME!  OWN ME!  Please, I beg of you.  I’m begging you Mistress.”  He was crying uncontrollably, openly now.  She was gently fucking his ass, sending outrageously pleasurable sensations throughout his pussy, and savagely fucking his mind, torturing him mentally; the pleasure and the pain melding into one.
The transformation was complete.  Shauntay knew it.  Hence forth and forever more, Bret would crave her.  She was the one who knew his desires and would risk his relationships, his job; he would offer his life to be the object of her sadistic ministrations.  “On your knees, bitch.  NOW!”  
Bret scrambled to a kneeling position, his eyes diverted to the floor.  Shauntay turned around and put her ass inches from his face.  Startled, he looked up, enchanted by the magnificent brown globes of flesh before him.  Reaching back, she spread her asscheeks and made her asshole wink at him.  He swallowed hard and grabbed his dick and stroked it as he put his nose closer.  Without warning, she farted directly in his face, the noxious, rank fumes overwhelming him as he moaned out and stroked his cock that much harder.  He inhaled deeply, the gas ambrosia to his senses.  
“Lie down on the floor.”  She pointed and he followed her command.  She slid the strapon down her legs and knelt over his face.  She rubbed her pussy lips, spreading them, showing Bret her inner, pink flesh.  His mouth watered.  He wanted to taste her wet cunt, to feel her cum all over him, flooding his mouth with her thick juices.  Her pussy was just inches from his face and it took every ounce of strength not to grab her hips and pull her body to his mouth.  Shauntay grabbed his cock and gently stroked it as she taunted him.  He was out of his mind.  Her soft hands felt incredible sliding up and down his hard shaft, eliciting moans of pleasure from deep within his core.  She lowered her pussy to his mouth and he tasted her sweetness for the first time.  
It was beyond anything he’d ever imagined, better than any pussy he’d ever eaten before.  Her juices were slippery and sweet, her lips were thick, and her clit was hard and felt like a small cock in his mouth.  She rode his face and rode him hard.  She took no consideration for his comfort or his safety; making herself cum and reveling in the fact that his life was in her hands.  Putting her entire body weight on him, controlling his light and his air, forcing him to use his tongue to lick anywhere and everywhere she wanted.  Shauntay used her big, round ass as a weapon.  
She sat back and gave him access to her entire lower region.  The smell of pussy and ass together was overwhelming.  Bret drove his tongue deep inside her, trying to fuck her asshole better than any cock could.  She sat squarely on his face as she stroked his cock.  Shauntay was a true Ebony Queen, sitting on her throne, and Bret was thrashing around, gasping for air and ready to cum at any second.   She held still and Bret could feel the heat rising up his body; the lack of oxygen to his lungs triggering his fight or flight response.  Just as she felt his body go limp, she lifted her ass off his face, flooding his with light and air, Bret gasping and coughing but begging for more.  He wanted the warmth and the sensation of her full weight on his face again, he craved it.  

Shauntay began bouncing up and down, one the verge of orgasm.  She began to slap and twist Bret’s balls cruelly, pulling them to administer pain, or was it pleasure?  Determined, he refused to stop until he could taste Shauntay’s cum pouring down his throat.  Her legs covered his ears, he could barely hear her moans but he knew that she was about to cum.  He sensed the muscles in her legs tighten up and she was more aggressive with her gyrations, bouncing up and down harder.  For a moment, he thought he was going to be crushed.  The only thing that kept him alive was the fact that she was stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, masturbating him cruelly.  He couldn’t breathe; he was feeling faint.  The pleasure was indescribable and she was riding him hard, cumming even harder.  He could feel her nails digging into his flesh and she exploded in his mouth, causing Bret’s body to explode in orgasm like he’d never known before.  
He woke up the next morning, in her bed, spooning Shauntay’s beautiful body.  “Good morning sleepy head.”  She kissed his forehead as he struggled to put the pieces together after his last memory of near suffocation.  He jumped up in bed and slid out of the sheets to the floor.  He didn’t deserve to be so close to her, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a man.  Shauntay held out her hand and, without words, invited him back to her bed.  Sensing his fears, reading his mind, she said, “Antoine de Saint- Exupery said, ‘You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.’  I would say that I’ve tamed you so . . .”  
“But,” Bret interrupted, “I uhmmm, I don’t want to be, you know, like this, I want it to be like last night.  I want to be that thing I was last night.”  
“Relax, sweetie,” Shauntay comforted him.  “I am your owner; I will control, use, abuse, and discard you at my whim.”  The word discard rang in Bret’s ears more than any other.  He didn’t want to be thrown away like a piece of trash; he wanted to sacrifice for her, to give her the ultimate sacrifice.  He wanted to surrender all that he was, all that he could ever be to her.  Tears filled his eyes as his mind raced.  Shauntay pushed his head between her legs.  “Bret, you have work to do.  Now get down there and eat my pussy.”  Bret threw the covers back and dove between her legs, seeing her gorgeous cunt in the light of day took his breath away again.  He hoped, no, he prayed, that this would be the beginning of a life of servitude and extremes beyond anything he’d ever allowed himself to contemplate, beyond any reasonable, logical explanation for how he was willing to redefine his entire existence as something inanimate and perverse. 

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Dominant Black Tales and Submissive White Tails

Did she have a hidden agenda?  Was her desire to dominate white men driven by some racial hatred or need to seek revenge for her enslaved ancestors?  By all outward appearances, that would appear to be the case.  Mistress Desire was far more complex than superficial appearances would allow however.  Black, strong, confident, and proud, there was no mistaking that the Domina was proud of her African heritage and took pleasure in reducing her white submissives to whatever it was that they feared the most.  There was a certain subtlety she possessed that could not be defined by labels.

She chose to meet him in a very public bar.  It was a gay bar in fact, and it was on the evening of the citywide famous drag show.  Queens weren’t the only people in attendance: butches, studs, lipsticks, straights, bisexuals, and everyone in between showed up to revel in the god damned decadence and defiance the night represented.  Anyone who wanted to thumb their nose at the status quo and acknowledge that they couldn’t be defined sexually by the strict and puritanical morals of the Bible belt felt comfortable showing up.  There was plenty of hootin’ and hollerin’ for the glammed up female impersonators doing yet another rendition of “Rollin on the River” and “It’s Raining Men.”  Her date for the evening did not fit in that category.  After hours of subtle interrogation, she had determined that his greatest fear was being seen for who he really is.  He was an introvert, a social recluse of sorts that wanted to keep his desires hidden from everyone, including himself.  Inside, he was a slut.  Not just any slut, a slut of the most insatiable, perverted, depraved kind.  He wanted someone to force him to bring out his dark fantasies and help him to become who he felt he really was inside.

She was taking a chance that he wouldn’t show but she was betting that the chemistry and the desperation he felt to fulfill his desires would be motivation enough for him to make the leap into the unknown.  She positioned herself at the far end of the bar at a table where she could see him enter.  If her assessment was wrong and he didn’t show up, she would entertain herself with the spectacle of others that wanted to exhibit their sexuality for the entire world to see.  He hadn’t cum in over three weeks and he had been nightly aroused with descriptive tales of her fantasies and desires.  The Internet and the phone were vastly different than the adventure he was about to go on however.

Stevie Wonder could have seen him walk through the front door.  Nervous as hell, he looked around the place needing only the tiniest of excuses to turn around and leave.  The promises of mind-blowing strapon anal assaults and wild, uninhibited sexual release propelled him to move forward.  He spotted her immediately.  She didn’t have to signal for him or make her presence known to him; she exuded the regal stature whereby he knew her immediately.  He made his way to her table and she had his favorite drink waiting for him.  He downed it with one gulp and nervously looked around taking in all the sights. 

“Bryan, did you do as I instructed?”  He lifted his arm that had been lying casually in his lap above the table and showed his baby smooth, hairless body; the only hair remaining on his body being under his arms and above the neck.  She placed her hand under the table and felt for the evidence of his other command.  Apparent through his clothes was a harder than steel erection and the telltale signs of a cock ring.  He swallowed hard as she stroked him through his clothes, knowing full well that he couldn’t cum restrained as he was.  They settled back and began to converse; controlling the flow of the exchange with her eyes and her will.  He knew he was being dominated and it was more than sexual. 

She draped her legs over his and he instinctively began to massage her silken calves.  He swallowed hard as he glanced down and realized that her pussy was exposed just inches away from him under her short dress.  “Listen, can we get out of here?  I did what you asked and I’m just not comfortable here,” he stammered, his eyes darting around the room to make sure no one he knew was there.  She laughed politely and ignored his comment, stroking his exposed arm and caressing his face with her soft fingertips. 

As the lights dimmed and a slow song began to play to supplement the time between performances, they were interrupted by the most breathtaking Black man in the bar approaching the table.  Dressed impeccably, not a bit shy of 6’4”, masculine, and looking like he stepped off the pages of a magazine, he extended his hand to the nervous submissive and said, “Would you care to dance?” 

“No thanks, I’m not gay,” Bryan managed to eek out, looking like a dear caught in headlights more than unassuming business professional that wielded so much confidence at his place of work. 

“He’d love to,” Desire answered, moving her legs and placing her submissive’s hand gently in that of his suitor’s.

He was in a state of shock.  He had specifically told Mistress Desire that he wouldn’t do anything with another man.  He was straight.  The confusion in his eyes, the panic, the anger overwhelmed him.  He had limits that were not negotiable.  Being submissive and being gay were too different things.  “He stood firm on his decision, “No thanks,” he said with determination, “I’m not gay.” 

He reached for his keys in his pocket and began to stand.  “Listen, I don’t know what sort of games you are playing but I’m not interested, Go fuck yourself, bitch.” 

Desire laughed at his defiance, placed her hand gently on his arm, and leaned in close.  Her voice was sweet and gentle.  “Bryan, you are standing on the verge of all of your dreams come true.  Before you leave, think about everything that we’ve been through to get to this point, are you willing to throw it all away for a dance?  Think of all the nights online where your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and you were begging me to use you in any way possible.  Think about the things you went through to gain my favor.  You know I’m the only woman that can push you past your fears.  Are you ready to throw that all away for a silly little dance?  If you leave, you’ll go home and jerk off in solitude dreaming of the things that could have been.  Do you want to do that Bryan?  Do you want to abandon the potential for your wildest fantasies to come true?” 

Her voice never went above a whisper.  “You can leave you little bitch but don’t you dare think of contacting me again.  Think about trying to find another Mistress like me that will make you feel like the depraved dirty slut that I bring out in you.  Haven’t you always wanted to be the submissive bitch boy to a superior Black domme?  The night of indescribable sensation that you’ve waited for is there for you.  All you have to do is dance.  Go!  I won’t think about you ever again, but can you say the same thing about me?”

The synapses in Bryan’s brain were misfiring.  He was pissed and aroused.  The gentleman waiting for the dance chimed in, tired of waiting and said, “Listen, don’t worry about it.”  He turned to walk away. 

“Wait,” Bryan said meekly.  Desire leaned even closer, the warmth of her body penetrating Bryan’s aura.  She whispered something in his ear and leaned back.  Bryan stood, fighting back the tears, and said with defiance in his voice, “Wait, I’d love to dance.”  He knew that the dance was not the not to be the end of his test. 

Significantly shorter than this beautiful specimen of a man before him, he didn’t even know where to place his hands.  His dance partner took control.  He placed Bryan’s arms around his neck and pulled Bryan close.  Bryan swallowed hard, his frustration showing in the color in his cheeks.  The alcohol in his system allowed him to relax just enough, knowing that this humiliation would be over in less than three minutes.  He shut out the people around him and danced, it was more like moved to the music; he was never really that good of a dancer.  Bryan had to hold on to reality.  He was getting confused.  The arms around his waist made him feel sexy.  A feeling of security and arousal enveloped him.  The sexy black shoulder that he rested his head upon was comforting.  He could feel full lips brush against his neck and he yielded to the temptation to moan ever so slightly at the sensation.  Strong Black hands caressed his ass.  He froze momentarily; his ass had always been a highly erogenous zone for him but he made sure that he only fantasized about women taking him there.  However, behind the safety of his closed eyes, in the secure embrace of the beautiful man that held him, he erotically thrust his ass back and forth, fantasizing about being fucked by his Mistress later on.  The hands grabbing his ass were forceful and he loved the sensation of being taken . . . forced, which only cause him to grind his ass harder and harder against his dance partner. 

“Uhmmm, the song’s over.  Would you like another dance?”  Bryan was snapped back into reality. 

“No . . . hell no!  I was just dancing with you because . . . No.”  Bryan knew his defensiveness was transparent but he had to maintain his façade of defiance if only for his own sense of well-being. 

Back at the table, Mistress Desire chuckled as Bryan slid into the seat next to her.  The Black gentleman slid into the booth across from them.  “You were so right Desire, his little cock was hard the entire time.  And the way he was grinding his ass on me, I can tell he’s going to be one hot fuck.” 

“I told you his slutty side would come out, Derrick.  When will you learn to trust me?”  Their laughter burning his ears like acid would burn his flesh.  They were sitting there causally discussing his little cock, his slutty nature, and the plans that they had made to in advance.  Bryan was incensed.  He fumed at the thought that this was all a set up and he mumbled something under his breath.  He stood to rise and leave when the gentleman said, “Sit down, bitch.  We didn’t tell you that you could leave.”

A lump formed in his throat as Bryan felt helpless to move.  His cock had no such limitations.  It was raging hard and hurting from being constrained as it was.  The casual power that the Black man had over him at that moment made him feel like the submissive slut he had longed to feel like.  He wondered momentarily if they had slipped something in his drink to make him have . . . you know, those kinds of thoughts. 

“What’s going on here?  I thought . . .” he was mumbling incoherently.  Desire giggled and ignored him momentarily.

“Oh, forgive my manners.  Bryan, I would like you to meet Derrick.  He’s my lover.  We like to play together.  He’s the male version of me, don’t you think?  Derrick . . . you’ve already met Bryan.”  The rapid eye movement of Bryan indicated confusion.  “You didn’t honestly think someone as breathtaking as him would actually be attracted to someone like you, did you?”  She laughed even louder, Bryan afraid that her amusement would be draw attention to them.  He felt unattractive with her comment but that somehow aroused him even more.  He wondered what people would think, a white man sitting there with two Black people.  He was sure everyone in the place could read his mind.  Bryan couldn’t even discern his own thoughts at that moment.  All sorts of thoughts ran through his mind about what the two of them had in mind for him.  He feared the outcome if he decided to let them go through with their plans and he was terrified of letting the extreme sensation of arousal that he was experiencing go.

For years, his attraction to Black women had consumed his every fantasy.  He loved their strength and their assuredness.  He loved their comfort and sophistication.  White women hadn’t aroused him in the better part of four years or more.  They were insignificant to him except on the rare occasion he fantasized about his wife being a slut for black cock.  Occasionally, he would dream of having a white wife that craved huge black cocks fucking her mouth, pussy and asshole unmercilessly while he served the Black wives of those men in whatever degrading or humiliating ways they saw fit.  Those thoughts didn’t seem realistic, his conservative wife would never think of such things, so he dismissed them as a fleeting fantasy.  He was comfy defining himself as submissive to Black women.  A submissive of the most extreme proportions.  If he were to allow himself to be honest and frank about his own desires, there had been many nights he has dreamt of being forced to be a cross-dressing sissy for Black cock, but he wanted to be “forced” so he could absolve himself of the guilt of desiring those yummy Black studs.  He allowed himself to freely fantasize about Black women all the time, and all the things that he would do for them. 

“Let’s go,” her directive was simple and to the point.  Out into the night air, Bryan had more reservations.  All the “ifs” and the “what ifs” and logistics were causing him to panic.  He stood helpless, like a child, waiting for further instruction.  They were in control.

Derrick and Mistress Desire kissed in the darkness and shadows of the parking lot.  They held hands and ignored Bryan but they were ever aware of his presence behind them as they made out while he watched.  They approached an SUV and opened the back door and Derrick turned momentarily to tell Bryan to get in.  Other than that, they were ignoring him as if he was insignificant to their arousal.  Bryan, on the other hand, was mesmerized watching them kiss.  Their skin looked so . . . different.  They seemed so . . . powerful.  It was intoxicating to watch them together. 

He stepped in the back seat and closed the door behind him as he regretted not telling someone whom he was going to meet, getting some significant contact information from this woman in case something went wrong.  Derrick drove while he and Desire chatted and laughed and occasionally looked in the rear view mirror.  He went to adjust his cock as it had been hard for hours before meeting her and the dull ache in his nuts was a sweet and painful reminder of that fact.  He wanted those nuts to be kicked, slapped, and twisted at the hands of the gorgeous mistress that sat in the passenger side of the truck in front of him.  His boypussy was throbbing thinking about being fucked savagely.  The pair in front of him seemed so sensuous, so oblivious to his presence, he wondered if they would forget about him and leave him to stroke his hard cock while he watched them make love or if he would be allowed to cum at all. 

His thoughts were about to be answered as they pulled into the driveway of a lovely home.  It was secluded and well maintained and more fears crept into his mind.  He had more fears and more fantasies of what was to come as well.  Desire slid the door open and said, “Get out.”  He complied eagerly, in a fog of lust at that stage from the hours of pent up arousal. 

As he stepped into the night air again, Bryan felt more alive than he had ever felt in his life.  Mistress Desire circled him, her body close without touching him.  She ran her nails along the side of his face lightly, sending chills down his body.  “Undress,” she said calmly. 

Bryan looked around confused.  Surely, she was not going to make him undress in the driveway.  It was too early in the evening; people were awake, watching television, someone might see. 

“Undress now!” 

As if in a trance, Bryan began to undress in the middle of the driveway.  Derrick had entered the house and was nowhere in sight.  He wasn’t sure what to do with his clothes so he folded them as he undressed and placed them in a neat pile on the ground.  He removed his shoes first, feeling more comfortable with that accessory than a major piece of clothing.  He removed his shirt next.  At that moment, he wished he had the smooth, rippling muscles that most black men seemed to have and he felt ashamed of his pale complexion.  Next to go were his pants.  His tightie whities bulged obscenely in the front from the erection he was sporting and the cock ring in place.  He pulled his socks off and stood in anticipation of his next command.  He felt even more naked because he was hairless.  Somehow, it made him feel more vulnerable. 

“I said undress.”  Her voice was so damned soothing and melodic, he felt helpless to deny her anything.

He slid his underwear down, his erection bobbing in the night air.  Even at full erection, he was barely six inches.  He always told inevitable Internet lie that he was six inches erect but that was only in the most extreme state of arousal.  Tonight, he was convinced he might be a little more than six even. 

Mistress Desire stroked his cock in the cool night air.  The sensation was indescribable.  Her hands were so soft and silky, he was under her control, people could be watching, and he knew that he had planned a night to explore his wildest fantasies.  He moaned out loud as she stroked him with skill. 

“Tell me what you want, Bryan.  Tell me why you are here.”

The words came tumbling out of his mouth as if they had been rehearsed.  “I want to be used by you, my superior Black queen.  I want you to put me in my place as the inferior white boy that I am.  I want you to take out your frustrations on me and make me your bitch.  Humiliate me, Mistress.  Force me to do unspeakable things.  I want you to show me that you have power over me.  Use me any way you see fit, Mistress.  I belong to you.”

The more he confessed his desires, the more she stroked him.  This Black woman, fully dressed, masturbating a completely nude white male in, seemingly her front yard, making him spill his guts.  If anyone were looking they would have gotten an eyeful.

“Put your clothes in the backseat and bend over with your hands on the floor of the truck.  He did what he was instructed to do and waited even further instruction. 

“Let’s see if this pussy is as slutty as you claim it is,” she mused.

She spread his ass cheeks and rubbed her fingertip over his hole.  He let out a slight moan.  His knees were shaking and he was glad that he could brace himself on the frame of the truck, his ass exposed for the entire world to see.  Mistress Desire slid her finger in to his unlubricated hole.  That was nothing to him, he had gotten so used to fucking himself he actually leaked “pussy juice” as he called it when he was horny.  His ass was always ready to be penetrated by a huge, black dildo any time of the day or night.  She began fingering him harder, driving him to maniacal fits of pleasure. 

She was giving him more pleasure than he had ever imagined.  Gone were all inhibitions and he was anxious for more.  “Oh, yessssss, Mistress.  Finger my pussy, pleaaase.”  If her fingers were just a little longer, she could have reached his spot.  She knew exactly what she was doing and she worked his pussy like a pro. 

She pulled her fingers out of his ass abruptly, causing him to cry out, his moans echoing off the cul-de-sac serenity.  “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to the front door.  Wait there until you are allowed in.”  With that, she walked away up the walkway and entered the home.

Bryan was lost.  He stood shakily and closed the truck door quietly, hoping not to draw any more attention than his previous moans and display had garnered.  He willingly got on his hands and knees and crawled on the walkway to the front door.  His hands and knees ached from the concrete but he relished the pain in anticipation of his fate to come.  He knelt submissively at the door and waited.  He suspected that they were watching him so he posed like a prize animal at a show.  He arched his back and thrust his ass high in the air, showing that he was ready for anything.  He lowered his head in submission, to prove that he was lowly and insignificant.  His erection couldn’t be seen in his kneeling position but it was red from arousal and restraint.  He wanted to be beautiful to all the eyes watching him, to whomever they may have belonged.  He didn’t care if the nosey neighbors saw him; in fact, he wanted them to see him for who he really was.  He wanted to be on display as a submissive to Blacks and he was proud of that fact. 

In an instant, the porch lights were turned on and he was flooded with light.  He maintained his composure and pride, sticking his ass out even more and lowering his head to the ground.  His asshole was throbbing and desperate for penetration and his soul craved humiliation.  At that moment, the door opened and he heard his Mistress command him to come in.  He crawled forward with confidence and agility. 

She stroked him like a pet, running her hands through his hair and down his back.  Bryan purred like a kitten and humped the air like a bitch in heat.  She placed a collar around his neck but he was afraid to tell her it was a little too tight so he suffered in silence.  It was a good discomfort, one he would gladly suffer for the Divine Mistress that stood above him.  She put a leash on his collar and pulled him in the direction of a back room.  The carpet under his knees felt good compared to the concrete but the pain in his nuts was ever present. 

She opened the door to a playroom and pulled him in unceremoniously.  The furnishings were sparse but there was no denying it was a room for hedonistic desires.  Not quite a dungeon and far from a spare bedroom, there were toys and tables, and chairs that had been designed for play.  Derrick was there, naked and erect, oiled and glistening, a vision of ebony perfection.  She dropped the leash and commanded Bryan to stay, like a puppy being trained.  Desire and Derrick conspired, whispering and planning what to do with their toy.  Derrick assisted her in undressing, the way they interacted making them look like dancers more so than anything else.  Her body was a work of art.  Her skin looked like the smoothest velvet and her curves were a sculptor’s dream. 

She walked over to a table and picked up a strapon.  Derrick helped her put it in place as Bryan began to whimper unconsciously at the thought of what was to come.  “Silence, bitch,” as she continued to secure her harness and what looked like a nine inch black dildo to her sleek frame.  Bryan was dizzy with lust and confusion. 

Desire sat in a chair and motioned for Bryan to come closer.  “This, my pet, is going to be very simple.  You are going to suck my dick until you prove that you are a cock craved whore and then you are going to get your slutty white boycunt pounded by the most formidable Black cock that you’ve ever seen.  Does that sound okay with you?” 

Bryan nodded furiously as he was anxious to get underway.  She leaned back in the chair casually and Bryan took in every inch of her beauty.  Her face was a face that could launch a thousand ships; her body was athletic and toned.  Her nipples were dark and puffy and Bryan longed to feel them in is mouth.  Her legs were out of this world.  They seemed to go on forever.  She stroked her strapon like it was real flesh.  He approached her with confidence.  He had sucked his own toys enough to know exactly how to do it.  He had prepared himself to deepthroat dildos that didn’t look humanly possible to swallow. 

His assault was calculated.  He wanted to show her a cocksucker like she had never seen before.  He had often fantasized what it would be like to have such a huge dick and he had practiced sucking his toys the way he would want his cock sucked if he were a black man.  He maintained eye contact with her as he began to lick sensuously up and down the shaft.  He licked the head and circled it with his tongue and began stroking it with his hand methodically.  He licked up and down the shaft, inching his mouth closer and closer to the sweet pussy that lay underneath, the scent of it making his little red cock leak profusely with precum.  He placed his mouth over the head and began his descent.  Barely more than half of it was in his mouth and it was already hitting the back of his throat.  It was thicker than he had ever sucked before but he was determined to show her that he was a good slut for her. 

Her words fueled his passion to do an even better job.  “Come on you dirty white cocksucker, show me what a slut you are for my juicy black cock.  Suck my beautiful black dick.  Tell me you love it.” 

He went into a cocksucking frenzy.  “Yes, Mistress.  I’m in love with your big, black cock.  It tastes so good in my mouth.  I love being your white cocksucker.  Feed me your cum.”  He was sucking harder and faster, taking it deeper and deeper.  His spit was dripping down the side; he wanted to be like the white whores he saw in all the videos that gave messy blowjobs. 

She grabbed the back of his head and forced him all the way down on her “cock.”  He choked and gasped for air and he felt like he was going to pass out.  The head of the black toy was deep in his throat and he felt like he was going to puke.  He kept sucking.  He sucked and she pumped until they were in a rhythm.  He was taking every inch down his throat in every thrust.  Every time she would let him up for air, she would ask him, “Do you want some more?”  He nodded affirmatively but he eagerness was evidenced in the fact that he wouldn’t stop sucking and licking that sexy black strapon. 

“You’re ready to get your pussy fucked, aren’t you?”  He nodded uncontrollable, only stopping for a few seconds before he continued to lick and suck and swallow her strapon.  “Derrick, get him ready for me, will you please?”

Bryan froze for a second.  He was past the point of pretense or care and all he wanted was to be used.  He arched his back as he felt lubricant being poured on his hole.  Derrick’s fingers were longer, thicker, and penetrated him more completely than Desire’s fingers had previously done.  He moaned in appreciation of the stimulation and sucked that much more.  She kept taunting him with her words,” you want to get fucked by a big black cock, to be a white faggot whore to be used by the Superior Black race, don’t you? 

He didn’t have time to answer.  His mouth was crammed full of the strapon and he was sucking it like a whore.  At that instant, he felt the head of Derrick’s dick at the entrance to his pussy.  He reached his hand back to feel its size and to guide it in but he wasn’t prepared for what he encountered.  It was as thick as a beer can. 

“Noooo,” he cried out, “I can’t take that, please no.”  The words coming out of his mouth rang of fear but his heart told a different tale.  He craved the pain of being used by Black people to rid him of his horrible guilt, to make him feel as inferior had he knew himself to be.  He wanted to be fucked like a white rag doll and he wanted to earn his punishment.  The head burned as it penetrated him and he turned back to suck the strapon to distract himself.  Desire had unhooked the dildo and spread her legs wide and presented him with her wet slit. 

Bryan was experiencing sensory overload.  A Black man was about to fuck him with the biggest black cock he had ever seen and before him was a sexy Black woman shoving her pussy in his face.  He cried out, “Fuck me.  Fuck my mouth, Fuck my pussy.  Use me.  Fuck me!!!”  Tears formed in his eyes.  He was lowered to a mass of flesh and lust at the hands of these Ebony gods. 

The cock in his ass pushed its way past his sphincter and deep into his bowels.  It hurt.  It was the kind of pain ushered in by the grandest pleasure.  The sweet, sexy pussy in his face tasted like heaven.  He felt what he previously thought was impossible . . . Derrick’s balls were firmly against his own.  He was impaled on that massive meat. 

He licked the clit in his face furiously as he wanted his Mistress to come in his mouth.  “More . . . more . . . more,” he kept chanting. 

Derrick began slapping his ass and calling him names and it sent Bryan into a lust-driven high.  The pounding was harder now; he was being fucked without mercy.  His guts ached, his prostate had never had that sort of stimulation and he was eating the wet musky cunt of his sexy Nubian Mistress.  His tears were uncontrollable.  His balls were aching.  He started stroking his own cock uncontrollably as he unsnapped the cock ring and let out a cry.  His cum exploded from his prick as Desire held his head to her spasming pussy and Derrick unloaded blast after thick blast of thick, hot cum in his well used pussy.  He passed out from the pleasure and the pain. 

It was early morning when they dropped him off at the parking lot of the gay bar where they met.  They had used him in so many delicious and unspeakable ways he couldn’t remember them all.  They were kinder to him then when they first met, treating him like a pet now more than a plaything.  He was desperate for some sign that he had pleased them.  “Will I see you again?  Would you like to use me some more?”  The longing in his eyes a telltale sign of the delight he had taken in being fucked so completely.

“Know that tonight was child’s play compared to what you will experience again,” Desire said.  They drove off into the early morning, masters of dominant pleasure. 


It had been two weeks since Bryan’s adventure and he hadn’t been able to keep his mind off the events of that memorable night.  During meetings at work, he would drift off in fantasy to the words that Desire last said.  “Know that tonight was child’s play compared to what you will experience again.” He had flashbacks.  Was it possible that he did the unspeakable things his mind’s eye recalled?  Eating black pussy, sucking big, black cocks . . . real and unreal, begging to get fucked and craving humiliation and abuse.  At times, he could pretend that it was all a dream, that it hadn’t really happened at all, but the desperation he felt to experience it again, the emptiness he felt inside, the longing to submit to his divine Black queen and do whatever she demanded haunted his every thought and desire.  In his mind, it played out like a movie.  He could see himself in the action.  He could see the way he swallowed Mistress Desire’s Strapon like a slut.  He could see Master Derrick’s huge cock as it invaded the deepest part of his bowels and gave him indescribable and forbidden pleasure.  He could see his transformation from mild mannered, unassuming white man to submissive white bitchboi slut, with an insatiable need to be used and humiliated by Blacks.  His mediocre life almost had reason while he patiently waited for the next email or instant message from Mistress Desire to let him know where his next adventure into dark passion would take him. 

One side effect the experience had on him was a boost to his libido.  His previously boring and dull sex life with his wife had been resurrected.  His love making become nothing less than inspired and she was never more satisfied in their entire eight-year marriage.  His mind would fill of images from that night.  His erection would become like steel and he would practically fight to keep from blurting out that he was submissive to Blacks to the blonde mother-of-two that lay beneath him.  He was inspired by the intense desire to shock his card carrying, Junior League, PTA white bread wife with the revelation that he had eaten the hairy, black cunt of a sexy, Ebony mistress and he loved every second of it.  He would pound away at his wife, making her moan for the first time in years, thinking of the look of horror she would have on her face knowing that he had begged like a dirty whore to get fucked savagely by a black stud.  He would imagine that Desire would be whispering in his ear that his cock was pathetic and could never satisfy a woman the way Derrick’s massive ebony weapon had satisfied his slutty pussy as he humped up and down on the unsuspecting woman that had ceased arousing him years ago.  Fantasizing about hearing Desire’s melodic voice in his mind, feeling her sensuous touch, and inspired by the beauty of her smooth chocolate skin, Bryan could resign himself to the life he was sentenced to live and make due with the cards he had been dealt. 

Those fantasies came to a crashing halt the second he walked through the door one day after work. An envelope sat plainly on the kitchen table when he arrived home.  It was so ornate, so elaborate, it was difficult to miss.  He initially assumed it was for his wife but was compelled to inspect it.  The hand calligraphy clearly spelled out his name and the expensive bronze envelope with sealing wax looked like it could have been an exclusive invitation to Prince William’s coronation or something.  Bryan held the envelope in his hand and panicked.  He knew the origin of the envelope even without a return address.  It wasn’t postmarked so he had to assume it had been hand delivered.  His wife surely put it there so there was no way he could conceal it from her.   Perspiration formed under his arms and he began to hyperventilate.  He could hear his wife moving about upstairs and he knew from routine that she would be done momentarily to greet him. 

“Honey, I’ll be back, I forgot my briefcase at the gym . . . I’ll be . . . be right back,” he yelled up the staircase as he clutched the envelope tightly. 

“Wait, tell me what’s in the envelope before you . . . leave,” the last word barely audible over the slam of the carport door.  He sat in his car motionless for a second.  Maybe he would just drive away and never come back.  No, he needed to get revenge on that bitch for trying to destroy his life.  She would pay for this and pay dearly.  He backed out of the driveway not sure if he would even have the nerve to return home.  He had nothing but the clothes on his back. 

Why had he been so thoughtless, so stupid?  He jeopardized his marriage for a night of lust.  At the time, it seemed so imperative to him to fulfill his fantasy.  The thoughts of his submission to Black women had been growing for years.  Everything about Black women seemed to reek of sensuality.  He had long since stopped looking at porn sites with white women.  Actually, his fascination began when he stroked his cock looking at videos of white women getting fucked by huge black cocks, usually in the ass, at the numerous black on blonde sites.  At first, he just wanted to see if the myth was true.  Assured that it was, he became mesmerized with black sexuality.  Somehow, some way, he would get confused.  Sometimes, he would imagine that the white whore on the screen was his wife.  Scared by that thought, he somehow began to imagine himself as the white slut.  He would see those white women on the screen, screaming and moaning and begging for more black cock as they were being gangbanged and he would wonder what it felt like to be the object of such intense sexual pleasure.  His mind couldn’t handle the confusion he experienced so he went searching the World Wide Web for images of Black women.  He found true love. 

Black women were his obsession.  Their skin, their asses, their pure, unbridled passion seemed to be the epitome of sexuality.  At first, any Ebony site would do but he quickly learned that most adult sites with Black women were low quality and showed Black women in the worse possible way.  He was only interested in sites that portrayed Black women as the goddesses he knew them to be.  AfroerotiK was his absolute favorite; he could look on with awe and inspiration at the gorgeous images of Black sexuality.  He then began using various chat rooms and online communities to find Black women with whom he could converse.  He was interested in Black women that were at least of his educational level and not just trying to get paid for fucking.  He was willing to pay, he felt it was his obligation to lavish a Black woman with gifts but wanted to do it as a tribute, not as an exchange of goods and services.  Bottom line, he didn’t want a hooker, he wanted a mistress. 

That’s how he found Mistress Desire.  She was a member of a yahoo group called love_ebony_women.  He sent her an instant message and she returned his message with pleasant conversation.  Not only was she his intellectual equal, she was his superior.  She was a biologist specializing in stem cell research and most of her job description went over his head.  For weeks they had developed a rapport and she had initiated him into a world of dominance and submission from which he could not return.  She was masterful in her control of him and he found himself doing things he hadn’t ever contemplated before.  She never raised her voice; she never made outrageous and unreasonable demands on him.  She would get inside his head, anticipate his every thought and desire, and push him to maniacal heights of arousal.  He craved her humiliation most of all.   He would get a perverse thrill knowing that she looked down on him with disgust and contempt. 

His cell phone rang and it jolted him out of his memories.  The caller ID said it was his wife and he let the call go to voicemail.  He glanced at the envelope sitting on the front seat.  It looked like it had an aura of its own.  “What the hell am I so afraid of?  What if it’s not even from her?  This is crazy.  I’m not afraid of her.  I’m not going to let her control my life.  Whatever is in there I can handle it,” he thought.

He drove out of conditioning to his job.  It was still relatively early in the evening so a few people were still lingering about, finishing up projects and waiting for the evening traffic to dissipate before they made their journey to the outer burbs.  He moved through the office in a fog, the envelope held firmly in his grasp.  He closed the door to his office and loosened his tie.  He felt lightheaded.  He broke the seal of the envelope and the gilt tissue paper floated gracefully to the floor.  He unfolded the envelope to find a hand written note. 

“Bryan, I do so hope you had a wonderful evening when we met.  I warned you that if you wanted to play again, the stakes would be higher.  What say you, Bryan?  Interested in seeing how far you will be willing to go to get your pathetic little prick off again Bryan?” 

Bryan blinked hard.  With all that was at stake, with all that he stood to lose, he found himself getting erect.  He could hear the sweet timber of her voice and he knew all to well that she knew how to push his buttons. 

He continued to read.  “You belong to me completely, Bryan, that means that anything that you have belongs to me as well.  I want your wife Bryan.  I want to see your wife getting fucked like a slut by Derrick’s beautiful black cock.  I want to see the look on her face as you kiss my feet, lick my pussy, as you drink my piss and tell me that you love me and you’ll do anything to please me.  I want her to watch in horror as she sees her dutiful husband slobber and drool over Derrick’s black cock and beg to get fucked like a useless faggot.  Chez Henri -- Friday night -- Be there at 8:00, bring your wife, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

Bryan’s mouth was dry.  More than that, his cock was hard.  He went to lock the door of his office and he fell wearily against the frame as he freed his raging hard cock and stroked it, thinking of the things Desire had described.  He pushed his pants to his knees and spread his thighs as much as his khakis would allow.  He placed his finger in his mouth and sucked it, imagining a more delectable treat.  Sufficiently lubricated, he reached past his balls to his asshole and pushed it in.  Ever since Derrick had fucked him in the ass, his asshole had become desperate to be fucked.  Sometimes, it itched and throbbed in need of a big, black invader.  He shot a load all over the carpet as he fantasized about his wife being a slut for black cock, and how Mistress Desire had manipulated him so completely.

Invigorated, Bryan regained his composure and he began concocting lies and explanations to tell his wife.  He checked his voicemail to get a measure of his wife’s demeanor.  All seemed well.  She was curious but she didn’t seem to suspect anything at all.  He felt a tinge of guilt for the betrayal he was displaying but his lust and fantasies, and the fear that if he didn’t comply with Desire’s wishes she might actually do something malicious to him, his marriage or his job kept him focused. 

He ran to his computer and used Publisher to create an elaborate looking document that looked like a gift certificate, complete with a fake authorization code and a line for a fake signature.  He called Chez Henri for reservations on Friday night and they were booked solid.  He asked the maitre d if there were reservations for a Desiree’ Jenkins and he confirmed that she had reservations for two at 8:00.  He called the corporate concierge for his firm and promised him a hundred bucks if he could get him reservations at the exclusive, five star restaurant on Friday evening.  He got a confirmation after only a minute of being on hold.  He held his breath as he dialed the number for his wife. 

“You won’t believe this,” he blurted out before giving her a chance to ask any questions,” I entered this drawing at work about a month ago and I won . . . we won a dinner for two at Chez Henri on Friday night.   Isn’t that fabulous?”

She started to ask all sorts of questions about the strange demeanor of the man who had delivered the envelope and why he had run out so quickly be he easily distracted her by telling her that she should go to Nordstrom’s and buy something extra sexy and that he even thought that she should take the day off an make an appointment for Spa Moulin on Friday afternoon as well.  “Make a day of it baby, I want this to be a special night for both of us.  We deserve to let our hair down.”

When he hung up, reality hit him squarely in the chest.  What on earth was he thinking?  How could he subject himself to such a dangerous plan?  As much as he fantasized about having a wife that was a slut for Black cock and submitting himself to the machinations of an Ebony Domme, this was too much.  He formed a plan that would simply beat Desire at her own game.  He was going to show her that he was no pawn to be played with. 

He avoided Andrea the majority of the day on Friday, opting to get his hair cut, go work out at the gym and go buy some Clinique toiletries so that he would feel his most attractive for his . . . masters, no longer able to say mistress solely.  His passion was rising and his slutty nature was coming out.  He wanted Desire and Derrick to take him places that he had never even dreamt of going.  The fact that his wife might be there to watch didn’t register in his consciousness.  For so many years she wasn’t even a part of his sexual fantasies that he was able to disassociate her from his desires.  Yeah, he would fantasize occasionally about a white slut wife that would keep him cuckold and submissive to Blacks, but he never thought that it would be the conservative, practically frigid woman that he had only recently begun to enjoy sex with, no thanks to her.  In his fantasies it was some other white woman, not the mother of his children. 

Andrea was like a school girl on Friday, giggling and talkative all day long.  She was invigorated by the concept of romance in their otherwise loveless marriage.  She got a Brazilian wax at the spa, removing every trace of hair on her pussy and leaving her baby smooth.  She had decided to go for a sultrier look than usual, empowered by the intense sex she and Bryan had been having as of late.  She made an appointment at the hairdresser, had highlights put in her hair and got the full makeover at the cosmetic counter at Mac.  Bryan, already aroused at what he knew was potentially going to happen, practically threw her on the bed when he saw the low-cut, clingy red dress that Andrea wore, the strappy high heels and the knockout woman that stood before him. 

“Your table is ready sir,” the host said as they made their way through the labyrinth of tables with Waterford crystal sparkling in the candlelight.  Bryan nervously glanced around, practically sick he had allowed his fantasies to control his better judgment yet again.  The waiter introduced himself and described specials but he was completely distracted.  He saw Desire from across the room, watching their every move, and something deep within him told him that he shouldn’t make the first move.  She was torturing him and she loved every second of it.  At times, she would laugh and draw attention to herself, highlighting the fact that she and Derrick were the only people of color in the entire place.  It was an act of confidence rather than uncouth, proving that she was undaunted by the historical implications that suggested that she didn’t even belong there, let alone command such confidence and ease. 

Dinner was seamless, save the raging hard-on Bryan sported all night, and the sorbet course was about to be served.  He thought that perhaps that this was to be his only test, to see if he could follow orders.  His true desires betrayed him as he felt slightly disappointed that the evening would transpire without the things the Desire had described in her note.  The waiter approached and discreetly said, “Ms Jenkins would like it very much if you and your wife would join her and her companion for an aperitif.” 

Her back towards the couple all evening, Andrea turned in her seat to glance towards Desire and Derrick.  “Bryan, who is she?  Do you know her?”  She seemed to immediately get uncomfortable. 

Bryan swallowed hard.  “Hmmmmmmm, Oh, yes.  I think I do.  She is the head of the lab at that research facility where my company updated their network interface a few months back . . . I think,” trying to sound unsure of himself and proud that he was capable of thinking on his feet so well. 

“I’m not so sure about that, Bryan. Maybe we should decline the offer.”  Andrea seemed nervous and figidity. 

“Nonsense, what could it hurt,” Bryan said, as he wondered inwardly why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to take his wife up on her offer?  Adrenaline was pumping in his veins.

Desire stood to greet him with an air of familiarity.  She leaned in close and tilted her head back for Bryan to kiss her neck.  Bryan laid a tentative and juvenile kiss on her neck and Andrea turned a deeper shade of red as she witnessed the act of intimacy right before her eyes. 

Derrick stood to greet her.  “Andrea, you look particularly lovely this evening.”  He kissed her on the mouth and ran his dark hands down her back and rested them on her ass.  This time, it was Bryan’s turn to show his displeasure.  It was a kiss of lovers. 

Desire interrupted the embrace and introduced herself.  “We’ve not met, I’m Desiree’ Jenkins.  You must be Andrea.  Derrick has told me so much about you.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman behind all those steamy stories.”  With that, she leaned in close and gave Andrea a sensuous kiss that was more appropriate for a porn movie than a high-class establishment like Chez Henri. 

“What the fuck is . . .,” Bryan blurted out, drawing more attention that the silent kiss had done. 

“Bryan, sit! And for God’s sake don’t make such a scene.”  Desire’s words caused more arousal than calm; the irony of her comments was not lost on the interracial foursome.  He was hypnotized by her command and presence. 

They all sat as Andrea and Bryan were shame-faced and solemn.  Desire broke the ice.  “Shall we drop the pretenses everyone?  Bryan, while you’ve been my cyber slut online for all these weeks, your wife has been entertaining a virtual lover as well.” 

Andrea looked nauseous as Desire continued with her tale.  “You see, Andy here doesn’t know the identity of her cyber lover, she’s only seen him from the waist down on web cam.  But she does know Derrick here.  They met when he was kind enough to hand deliver the note I sent you earlier this week.  Derrick and your cyber lover are one and the same, Andy.  I’m afraid we played a bit of a trick on you sweetie by not revealing Derrick’s identity to you when you met the other day but you didn’t seem to care.  You were so hot for Black cock that you were practically throwing yourself at him.”  Desire continued with her story causing Bryan rage and outrage at the betrayal from both women.  “I guess her lust for black men had been fueled by her cyber lover so much that when Derrick showed up at the door, she invited him in, offered him some Iced Red tea and was practically drooling all over him.  The kids were in the back yard playing the whole time if I heard the story correctly.  Bent right over the kitchen sink and took all 10 inches without missing a beat.”

Bryan’s heart sank.  He knew the story was true.  His wife had been on this whole “antioxidant kick” recently and was addicted to a new kind of red rooibos tea.  Andrea grabbed her purse and Bryan’s arm and stood to leave. 

“Sit down bitch!”  Desire’s words sounded so sweet and sexy they effectively controlled the blonde housewife with ease.  Bryan’s face was burning with anger.  Damn his cock for being hard at a time like this.  He grabbed Andrea’s arm forcefully enough to leave marks.  “Is what she’s saying true?” 

Andrea pried his fingers from her arm.  With tears in her eyes, she choked out, “I guess it is, apparently you know her very well. I wasn’t the only one cheating online.” 

Desire interrupted.  “Oh no, Bryan’s infidelities were far more extensive than mere cybersex.”  She turned to Bryan.  “Would you like to divulge the juicy details of our threesome or would you prefer me to do that?  Better yet, let’s go to the video tape, shall we?” 

“You didn’t tell me anything about a videotape,” Bryan was outraged.  He had been caught so off guard that he had completely forgotten his counterplans for revenge on this Black manipulatrix.  He never saw the shocker coming that his wife would somehow be involved in her scheme.  The white couple sat there in a state of shock, not believing that their marriage was falling apart in the most expensive restaurant in town. 

“What video tape, Bryan?”  Andrea whispered the words softly, the wind taken out of her sails. 

Bryan sunk into a feeling of calm.  He had no control so he just relinquished all of his anger into determination to not let this woman defeat him.  Casually, at just above a whisper, he recounted to his wife the short version of what had happened. " . . . . wanted to know if it was true . . . once you go black . . . AfroerotiK . . . shaved. . . dance . . . and for the first time in my life Andrea, I felt alive."  He finished his monologue as he fought back the tears.  He was now truly free. 

“Andy, your hubby left out a few key details,” the familiar way she called her name dripping with condescension.  Not waiting for Bryan to fill in the details, she said, “Do you remember how good you felt when Derrick’s hard, black cock was ramming your tight white pussy?  Well, you and Bryan have that in common.  He’s all too familiar with that sensation as well.  And if memory serves me correctly, he was begging and screaming for more.  Isn’t that right, Derrick?” 

Derrick spoke up for the first time since the foursome sat at the table.  He was more than just a lackey; he was an equally competent and capable dominator.  The effects of his work outs showed beneath the tailored suit that draped his body like it was custom made for him, and obviously it was.  Derrick was professing how tight, slutty, and horny fucking Bryan was and comparing notes to determine which partner had been the better lay.  Bryan couldn’t hear any of his comments, he felt like he was about to pass out. 

Derrick signaled for the check and the waiter promptly brought it to the table.  “Would the gentleman like for our limousine to take you to your usual suite at The Ritz this evening?”   Derrick threw six crisp $100 bills on the table and said, “That should be fine, and make sure that our guests here have their bill covered as well.  That should take care of everything, correct?”

“Yes sir,” the waiter said. Bryan was not sure if he could detect a hint of submissive gleam in the waiter’s eyes when he bowed graciously and left to signal for the driver. 

“Come Andy, let’s powder our noses while the boys catch up.”  Desire stood and extended her hand to Andrea.  Bryan had to stand to let her out of the booth and they two ladies trotted off arm in arm, Andrea looking back like an abducted child stolen from her father’s loving embrace. 

Bryan stared at the cleared table, unable to look Derrick in the eye.  Five minutes passed and he grew more and more uncomfortable with each passing second.  He could tell Derrick was staring at him the entire time.  “She’s eating Desiree’s pussy right now, you realize that don’t you?” 

Bryan looked up in shock, his eyes wide with wonder.  “There’s no way, Andrea isn’t . . . she wouldn’t. . . ‘  His voice trailed off, reminded of the things he’s been convinced to do and enjoy at Desires command. 

Just then, the two ladies returned to the table.  Andrea moved with a casual elegance about her, a certain lightness.  She certainly wasn’t the same woman who left the table minutes ago.  She walked up to Bryan and slid in next to him.  She leaned over and kissed Bryan full on the mouth.  There was no denying the taste of pussy on her mouth.  He had tasted that sweet nectar before and remembered it all too well.  She tasted different, slightly saltier somehow but Bryan was intoxicated by the taste.  He was lost in his own lustful desires to taste that pussy when he reached for Andrea’s waist and felt her dress was damp. 

He backed away and looked Andrea in the eye.  She didn’t look away.  He glanced at Desire with a confused look on his face.  It wasn’t possible.  There was no fucking way in hell that it was possible.  That taste . . . the damp dress.  Desire laughed, “I’ve had so much champagne this evening, sometimes I get a little confused.  The toilet is white; Andy’s mouth is white . . .”


“Andrea didn’t bother to answer.  She took Bryan’s hand and discreetly shoved it between her pantiless thighs.  She was soaking wet.  Bryan looked at his wife and she was no longer the conservative woman that made meatloaf every Thursday and sold raffle tickets for the PTA.  She was a hot, desirable, lustful woman that looked incredible.  “I’m horny, hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.  I want to do this Bryan.  Let’s take a chance.  If we let go of this opportunity, we may never get it again.”  She hesitated a moment and added, “Bryan, we are both sluts for black cock and for black pussy, why are we trying to deny it?”

With that simple declaration, everything in Bryan’s world changed.  There was no turning back.  His wife of eight years had spoken the words that would alter their realties forever.  They were sluts for black cock and black pussy.  Bryan closed his eyes and opened them to a new reality.  He wanted to be baptized with the golden nectar of Mistress Desire; he wanted to be used by Derrick any way he saw fit.  He wanted to eat Andrea’s pussy when her belly was swollen and full with Derrick’s baby.  It was as if in an instant he was a new person. 

“Your car is ready,” the waiter announced as he held Desire’s chair out.  Desire held her arm out for Bryan to take and he did so willingly.  Derrick slid around and took Andrea’s arm and the foursome walked out arm in arm much differently than they had entered. 

The limo was waiting for them at the curb.  The driver held the door while they piled in.  There was a full bar and TV and all the trappings of a limo but there was a case of openly displayed sex toys there as well.  Bryan tried not to stare and act nonchalant about it.  Andrea was seated in between Desire and Derrick and Bryan sat across from them.  The car sat motionless as Desire said, “Bryan pull down your pants and bend over, I want to put a butt plug in you to get you ready for tonight. 

Bryan froze for a second.  It was the exact same feeling he had in the bar.  He was angry and defiant but intoxicated with the power this Black women held over him.  She owned him and he did what she requested with pride, wanting to show his wife that he had no shame in being such a slut.  He slid his pants down to his knees and followed instructions by kneeling on the floor of the limo. 

“Andy, I want you to put it in, which one of these lovelies would you like to see in him . . . that one?  Why not that one?  Yes, I think he would like that one much better.”  Bryan arched his back.  He wanted to take the biggest one there was with ease, to show that he could handle anything they dished out. 

His wife inquired about lube and Derrick said, “Damn, we forgot the lube, you’ll have to lick his asshole to get it wet or stick it in dry.”  Bryan froze.  He feared that his wife would take out her anger at his infidelities on his unlubed asshole.  His fears didn’t last long as he felt the soft touch of his wife’s tongue on his rear hole.  In their entire time together, she had never done anything like that.  It felt damn good.  She was licking his ass and moaning.  Bryan glanced around to see that Desire was fingering Andrea’s pussy at the same time.  The pleasure he felt was quickly changed when he felt the tip of a gigantic butt plug about to penetrate him.  He pushed out, like he was taking a shit, to accommodate the mammoth toy.  It felt heavenly, finally filled where he had felt so empty since Derrick has last been there. 

“Pull up your pants,” Derrick said. He tapped on the window and the driver opened the door.  Everyone looked at Bryan and he knew he was expected to get out.  He froze.  The driver extended his hand and Bryan emerged out into the night and turned back to see his wife and her two black lovers fondling her openly.  The driver closed the door and opened the passenger side door for Bryan.  He felt relieved momentarily, until he sat and felt the butt plug in his ass and moaned in discomfort.  The driver, a white man that looked to be in his late forties, put the partition up between the front and back seat and pulled his cock out.  It was already erect and Bryan stared at him, wondering how many times he had done this sort of ritual with Derrick and Desire.  The driver seemed happy to just stroke his cock occasionally, keeping it erect as he drove about the city. 

The heavily tinted windows shielded them from the rest of the world.  Bryan was mesmerized by the events of the night.  Within the last hour and a half, he had found out that his wife had been having a secret cyber affair with a Black man, that that same black man had fucked her in their very house, he revealed to his wife that he had become submissive to a Black dominatrix and enjoyed taking her lover’s black cock in his ass.  He had tasted the evidence of his wife drinking Desire’s piss and he now had a huge butt plug in his ass sitting next to a man that was jerking off casually while his wife was in the back seat between two Dominant Black people.  Bryan rested his head on the partition and pulled his own cock out for some stimulation. 

He was enjoying the night scenery, the pressure in his ass and the public jerk off he and the driver were sharing when he heard moans coming from the back seat.  They were the unmistakable moans of his wife, in the throws of ecstasy.  He listened intently.  She was screaming now, loudly, without censor.  His wife was a slut, begging to get fucked. 

Desire turned on the intercom so he didn’t have to strain to hear.  Every sound was as clear as a bell.  “Yes Andy, suck that big, Black cock.  It’s so much better than your hubby’s pathetic little white one, isn’t it?”  Andrea moaned her affirmation with a mouth full of meat.  “You love that THICK, LONG, BLACK DICK fucking your slutty mouth, don’t you?”  Her punctuation of every word like a knife in Bryan's gut.  There was more moaning and slobbering.  Bryan was embarrassed but more aroused than ever.  He wanted to hear his wife say that his cock couldn’t satisfy her.  He wanted her to say that only a big, Black cock could please her.  He stroked harder and harder waiting to hear more. 

He heard Derrick say, “Look you white bitch, if you are going to suck it, suck my fucking cock you whore,” and he heard the sounds of his wife choking.  He knew Derrick had his strong black fingers grasping the blonde hair of his wife and was forcing her down on his stiff erection.  He heard the sounds of Mistress Desire slapping her ass and finally Andrea gasping for air. 

“More, give me more of that superior Black cock,” she was screaming and coughing like a wounded animal.  Every time he heard the staccato sound of her ass being slapped, her voice went down an octave like she was being transformed into a wild beast. 

“Come here you cunt, eat my pussy and you better make me cum.”  Bryan had tears in his eyes; he was grinding in the seat and humping that butt plug deeper and deeper in his ass.  He ached to see the action.  “Yeah you white cunt, eat my sweet, hairy black cunt, show Mommy what a good little girl you are.”  The words rang in Bryan’s ears.  He visualized his pristine wife of eight years lapping at the silky folds of flesh between the thighs of a Dominant Black woman.  He heard her dress rip and he gasped for air.  What was happening back there?

“Oh yes, fuck me Daddy.  Mommy, make me eat your sweet, juicy pussy.  Mommy, I’ve been such a bad girl, Tell Daddy to spank me hard while he rams that gorgeous fuck stick in and out of my slutty pussy.  I’m a bad girl, aren’t I Mommy.  Only Bad girls like to get fucked like whores by big black cocks and like to eat pussy, don’t they Mommy?”

If he hadn’t heard that voice every day for the past 10 years of his life, Bryan would have sworn it was someone else saying those words.  He spit on his hand and stroked his cock even harder.  Not ashamed any more, he lowered his pants, removed them and placed his feet on the dashboard.  He grabbed the base of the butt plug and tried to push it deeper in while he kept listening to the sounds of his wife getting fucked. 

“Want some more piss, slut?  Want some more of Mommy’s sweet pee?”  All he heard were moans.  It was barely a second before he heard the unmistakable sounds of hot urine filling a mouth and swallowing, followed by coughing and sputtering.  “You bitch, how dare you spill a drop of my precious golden wine.”  

“I’m sorry Mommy, but, agraahhhhhhhhhh, Daddy was ramming my white useless twat so hard I couldn’t help myself. Let me make it up for you by licking your sexy asshole Mistress.  Please, I would love to stick my tongue up your gorgeous shithole.  That’s what nasty little white sluts like me do, right Mommy?” 

The cum in Bryan’s nuts was about to shoot out of his cock.  He was stroking so hard, so fast, moaning louder than his wife.  If he could just see what was happening.  He heard Desire moaning in sensual delight and the sounds of licking and the unmistakable sounds of hardcore fucking. 

Bryan heard the sounds of Desire on the verge of orgasm.  He had heard those melodic sounds before and they were music to his ears.  Derrick was lost in his own pleasure as well, yelling out, “Take my cock, bitch, and take every fucking inch.  If you’re lucky, I’ll cum in your used hole and let lover boy up there lick it out. 

There was no turning back.  Bryan was out of control.  His heart was aching.  He needed to see the action.  The words poured through the intercom, a mélange of voices and cries,” Fuck me, eat my pussy, take this black cock bitch, it hurts, that feels good, more, don’t stop, fucking slut, use me . . .” it was a cacophony of erotic words made into a soundtrack of lust and pure, hedonistic desire. 

Bryan was sure that all four of them came at the same time.  Bryan captured his cum in his hand and licked it like a greedy slut, careful not to make a mess for the driver to have to clean up.  The driver, erect and still stroking himself, concentrated on the road, surely hired for his services for his discretion and his safety. 

The car pulled into the driveway of the Ritz.  After a moment to pull himself together, the driver opened the passenger side door and Bryan stepped out into the night.  He opened the door to the back and Derrick and Desire emerged impeccably.  Andrea had the obvious signs of being fucked.  Her hair was matted and sweaty, her dress slightly torn, her lipstick smears across and her face was glistening with the telltale signs of cum.  At that moment, Bryan was sure he had never seen his wife look more beautiful.  The doorman held the door for them. 

“I’m pleased you’ll be staying with us this weekend.  If there is anything you’ll require, be sure to let me know.” 

Derrick tipped him what looked to be a one hundred dollar bill and slapped him on the back.  ‘We’re expecting six of our friends to show up in a couple of hours.  Be sure to show them directly to our room.” 

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK