Broken John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wasn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Degrading Women

Everyone watches porn.  Porn has become a staple in most people’s daily lives in fact.  Not too long ago, porn was only something for “dirty old men” and perverts.  In the not too distant past, you had to go to a store to rent a video, buy a magazine and hide it in your closet, or go to a seedy theater with sticky seats to view erotic images.  Today, most people, male and female, have porn websites bookmarked on their computers and they check in daily for some sort of stimulation, whether it be pictures, videos, stories, chatting with other people, or a host of other options available.  You can have porn downloaded on your phone and be a member of a virtual porn world; you can have access to porn 24 hours a day if you are so inclined.  Porn has become so commonplace, so much a part of our daily lives that we don’t even realize how much the constant access to it has changed us and our perceptions about sex and sexuality. 

Porn has evolved since its early days.  While still very much geared towards and created for men, there are very few women who don’t get aroused by porn today.  It wasn’t all that long ago that FREE porn on the internet was a rarity; most porn sites were pay sites and most free sites were just teasers to direct you to a pay site.  Today, one needn’t pay anything to access full length videos, webcams, and communities with other people who have the same preferences and fetishes you share. Women are seeking out porn as a viable career, they are producing and directing it, they are complicit in the objectification of the female image. 

What hasn’t evolved is our collective sexual maturity.  People still aren’t comfortable with their sexuality.  Our sexuality is still steeped in shame, lies, and self-deception.  Women are still lying about the number of partners and experience they have; men are still in denial about their practices and preferences.  We are still ruled by Victorian mores and conservative guidelines that are unnatural.  Sex is, or it should be at least, a tool for communication, a meditation, an expression of love.  Sex should be about two people coming together and exploring their passion for one another.  Sex has become about the power exchange that makes women into nothing more than objects for men’s arousal, frustration, and release.

There can be little question about the fact that the daily consumption of porn desensitizes people.  Whereas we once were aroused by just the act of two people having sex, scintillated at what can only be considered tame, now, we need to see people doing more extreme and deviant things in order to maintain our same level of arousal.  Whereas we could once could get off on seeing a solitary image, now, we need to see hundreds of images, in search of that illusive image that will get us off; we need to see hours upon hours of porn to get a nut. 

Today, without question, porn is largely about degrading women.  Exploited, abused, punished, brutal, disgraced, humiliated, tortured, gagged, and forced are very common tags for porn, so much so that we don’t get offended or even blink an eye when we see them.  Even rape is eroticized in porn.  If a clip isn’t promoted as particularly brutal, it’s nothing to see a woman being slapped, spanked, spit on, gagged, and roughly fucked in almost every scene.  Women are routinely subjected to being called a bitch, slut, and a whore during sex, shown doing things that no self-respecting man would ever do if the situation were reversed. 

What effect does seeing these types of images do to a sexually immature nation?  First and foremost, we accept this sort of treatment as normal, we never question it being sexist or misogynist, and we become aroused by seeing it.  Men, who learn everything they know about sex from a computer screen, NEVER see images of seduction, intimacy, tenderness, or love-making.  They assume all women want to be treated like a slut, called names, abused, and pounded like a nail during sex.  Women want to emulate the images they see, they want to be considered sexy so they adopt the persona of the video slut, begging for more abuse, aroused by being treated like shit, without regard for or even awareness of their own desires.  Sex has become about the degradation of women and no one seems to care.  Everyone is too concerned about pretending that they don’t watch porn, that they are sexually frigid and intolerant of any sort of sexual expression.  We are on a high-speed, runaway train careening towards sexual dysfunction and porn that degrades women is the fuel. 

As one of the only unapologetic, card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool, true feminists left, (and as a woman who consumes a fair share of adult material) I have made some shocking and uncomfortable discoveries about my own tastes and preferences in porn.  I have always been a staunch advocate for, and creator of erotica for couples.  I write stories that appeal to both men and women; I will not objectify or degrade Black women in any of my work.  I have never in my life dominated a woman because I can’t bring myself to oppress, even under the auspices of sexual roleplay, the already oppressed.  All of that being said, I too, have become victim to the plague of porn desensitization.  I have watched, sought out, and been aroused by images of women being degraded.  I am aroused by women (and men as well, but for this conversation we will focus on women) who are proud of their depravity, who revel in it, who are unapologetically ravenous in their need to be degraded. 

While I can say that I’ve never been victim of the unknown force that entices women to want to be degraded or humiliated during sex, admittedly, there are times when seeing a woman dominated sexually pushes all my buttons.  I have to admit that because most of the images of women doing obscene and perverse things are of white women, my “fetish” if you will is limited to women who look nothing like me.  Seeing white women degraded is arousing because I can completely distance myself from the act, I can objectify them as “other” because it becomes arousing to know that they would so readily display themselves doing any manner of unspeakable acts for pleasure.  I can get off on white women doing things that relegate them to nothing more than filthy whores who will do anything, no matter how depraved, and enjoying it.  Do I think my preferences are healthy?  No.  Am I okay with them for the time being?  Yes.  Most people won’t even acknowledge what gets them off in the privacy of their homes in front of their computer screens.  The simple fact is that I’m willing to discuss it publicly and that I’m at least aware that my fascination isn’t the most healthy expression of sexuality. I feel comfortable in knowing that I am aware of the issue, addressing, and working on it.  That is more than most people can say. 

Where does that leave the rest of America, the ones who aren’t as self-aware as I am nor are they cognizant of their own misogynist behaviors?  Well, men are now socialized to think that seduction and romance are unnecessary, that women are only deserving of being treated like objects.  Women have never been socialized to have a voice to ask for anything other than being spanked and/or abused.   Behind closed doors, in the glow of the computer monitor, the degradation of women is being eroticized day in and day out, and it has become the norm.  It is my strong belief that the degradation of women is symbolic of the destruction of our society.  If women can’t be seen as equals, as objects worthy of adoration and exaltation, the very foundation upon which relationships are formed is shaky.

SEXY FINGERS

The Erotic Afro

Technically, in the spirit of equality, I should probably name this series of pictures something to do with niggers as well.  I would hope that perhaps my point was made with the last set and everyone can appreciate these images for what they are, a couple in the heat of passion that just happen to be interracial.  It matters not that she is a black woman and that he is a white man.  They could both be white, they could both be black, they could both be entirely different ethnicities altogether and they would still be the same, a couple expressing their passion.  The fact that she's natural and nappy is just evidence of her comfort with her own cultural identity and her lack of need to conform to Eurocentric standards of beauty in or to appeal to a white man. 

My Wife is Fucking a Nigger

Just Kidding!!!!! 

I don't refer to Black people as niggers, EVER.  Not as a joke, not casually, I don't ever "let it slip", nor do I think impoverished or undereducated Black people are deserving of the word.  These images not about anyone's wife, not about cheating, not about anything cuckold, submissive, or humiliating.  It's just a series of beautiful, interracial images I took a few years ago.  

I thought I'd stir things up with the title a little bit to highlight the racism and prejudice that exists in interracial porn (although there is nothing pornographic about these images). I think they are an important commentary on sex between black men and white women and how those types of images are perceived and received by the public.  

A Question for Black Women about Submissive White Men

I have been writing erotica for almost 10 years now.  What started out as outlet for my sexuality that I couldn’t find represented in the then current offerings of porn/erotica quickly developed into a study of human sexuality and an opportunity for me to share the gospel of truth as I see it with my written word.  The more I wrote, the more I shared my writing, the more people would open up to me about their fantasies.  The more they opened up, the more I saw common themes and desires in certain groups of people.  It didn’t take very long in fact for me to figure out that white men were CRAVING domination from Black men and women alike in outrageous numbers.   

In fact, the most searched, read, and sought out essay I’ve ever written is the one I wrote years ago about White Male Submission.  In the years since that piece was written, white male submission has become more widespread in fantasy, but the outlets for it are still very limited.  Most porn sites dedicated to Black Female Domination are owned and operated by individual Black females themselves, not big corporate conglomerates understanding the niche and trying to capitalize off it.  Conversely, if you did an internet search for sites dedicated to white women submitting (whether overtly or subtly) to Black men, you could spend the rest of your natural born life clicking on websites and never see them all. 

White men, still by and large, often individually feel like they are the only white man in the world with desires to submit to Black sexuality.  The media covers their obsessive need to molest children and even made a weekly television program showing how pervasive the trend is but I’ve yet to see any mainstream media coverage of the scores, the hoards, the multitudes of white men who are sucking black dick, who are longing to be spanked, beaten, pissed on, and used by Dominant Black women.  I recently did a search for images of Black couples dominating a white male and I couldn’t find any.  Not any.  In the year 2011, when you can readily find pictures of anime midgets engaged in underwater bestiality or anything that one’s perverted mind can imagine, it was virtually impossible to find an image of a white male being dominated by a black couple. 

My question is this.  I’ve seen the number or submissive white men over the years multiply exponentially.  What I’d like to know is, are the numbers of Black women who find the idea of dominating a white male increasing as well?  I know there are a number of Black women who have dabbled and experimented in financial domination but I suspect they have tired of that very quickly because white men are masterful at stringing women along, using money as a tool to control and dictate their whims, never really following through on their promises of giving money but using it as the proverbial carrot to manipulate Black women into fulfilling their fantasies as they see fit.  Are there more and more Black women who are truly recognizing their power, are they exploring their sexual selves and finding that it can in fact be pleasurable to dominate and control someone, especially a white male?  Are Black women feeling a need to dominate on par with the white male’s need to submit? 

I’d love for some honest feedback.  Are the numbers of Black women in kink, in the D/s world staying pretty stagnant for the most part or is there an emergence of dominant Black women that has gone under the radar because no one wants to discuss, explore, or acknowledge that white men desire to be dominated by Black men/women?  Ladies, share your experiences and your fantasies.  If you find the concept arousing, speak up, don’t remain silent. Share.  If you’ve tried it and you didn’t like it, can’t be bothered anymore, I’d love to know that as well. 

Suck it!

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

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Complete Story)

Time is measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years.  Distance is measured in feet, yards, acres, and miles.  But time can feel like it’s frozen in place and a few hundred miles can feel like hundreds of light years when you are away from the one you love.  There is a delicate equilibrium to maintaining a long-distance love affair.  Most people think that the time and the distance away from a lover keep the relationship fresh and exciting.  The perception is that if you only see one another every few months, that you are filled with passion and lust for one another; that you don’t have to deal with the mundane and the tedium that plague average relationships.  To some extent, there is validity in that theory.  You have to squeeze a whole lot of loving and living into a few days when you live far apart from the one you love and sometimes you can’t wait to tear each other’s clothes off and get into some hot and sweaty love-making.  Sure, there is a lot of late night phone sex, and sexting, and all the other forms of intimacy people can share with new technology to hold you over.  But people who are in long-distance love affairs know all too well the down sides of having a partner who is not there day in and day out.  They know about the lonely nights and empty beds, the subtle fear and insecurity that creeps into your subconscious mind, wondering if your lover is finding comfort in the arms of another.  Being separated from your lover is no fun when you need a shoulder to cry on or a simple hug.  The rush you get when you see each other is countered by the long, painful goodbyes that feel like your heart is being ripped out.  Once the relationship has survived the obstacles of time and distance, then there is always the dreaded “conversation,” the looming question is always hanging out there, just beneath the surface at every reunion, “When is it time to move this to the next level?  When is it time for us to move closer together?  What will it take for us to make that commitment?”  Bill and Suzy Suburbia never have to deal with those issues, never have to factor those things into their stable, familiar day in and day out equation.

Cynthia and Esteban were working out the dynamics of a long-distance relationship in their relationship.   When Cynthia moved to Chicago from Philly, the couple didn’t have years together to solidify their connection, they had a few months, a rough and rocky start, and a tremendous connection.  If their affair was to survive, it was going to have to make it on a wing and a prayer, a commitment to honesty, fidelity, and open communication.  It wasn’t the ideal arrangement but it was going to have to work for them as long as they were in love with one another and determined to make it work.  

Esteban had been feeling the pangs of something unfamiliar, something nagging at his gut.  In his heart, he knew that Cynthia was a wonderful woman and perfectly suited for him.  They were compatible in so many ways and the sex was great, which means a lot when you are “no spring chicken” shall we say.  But his commitment to a relationship where he only got sex every few months had been on his mind.  In his heart, he wasn’t sure he could handle the temptation much longer nor was he even sure he wanted to.  Sex with Cynthia was fantastic when they had it, and they had enough phone and cam sex to relieve some of the pressure but it wasn’t the same as flesh to flesh contact.  In his heart he KNEW he didn’t want to be in a relationship with any another woman, Cynthia WAS the woman for him, but he wasn’t as convinced he didn’t want to get hot and sweaty between the sheets with someone else.  The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her but he didn’t think he could live indefinitely with the concept of having sex every three months either.  He knew Cynthia was feeling the pains of separation herself.  He heard the longing in her voice when they spoke on the phone, the growing insecurity she had that he was ready to move on, and he saw the unconditional love and passion she had for him when they were together just lounging around the hotel room when he went to visit.  Neither of them was ready to relocate to be closer to one another again and financially it was still too much of a burden to visit much more often than they did.  He held on to his love for her.  He struggled to remain faithful and, if he was being honest with himself, he was ready for the relationship to move to the next level.  A year of being apart was more than enough time for him to recognize that he didn’t want to live without her but circumstances demanded that they did.

Cynthia was struggling with the distance as well.  For her, it wasn’t so much the temptation of having sex with someone else, it was the lack of intimacy that haunted her.  She needed the touch, the bond, the physical presence of her lover there to keep her motivated on her goals; she needed that shoulder to cry on when she was weary.  It was her job that caused them to be apart and hardly a night went by where she didn’t want to pack it all up and run back to him.  She made a point of bringing up their fidelity frequently enough to let him know that she was aware of his physical needs and she just wanted to stay informed but she didn’t bring it up so much as to lead the horse to the water so to speak.  Cynthia wasn’t sure if their relationship could endure being open but she needed to know that she was going to be kept up to date and in the loop BEFORE the dynamics of their relationship changed. 

With a significant tax refund check in hand, Esteban decided that the best thing to do in order for the couple to recharge their batteries and decide what the next step should be would be to take a much needed vacation for the two of them.  Initially, he was planning on going to New Orleans but there, in the travel agent’s office, he decided he wanted to take her to his hometown, a secluded village in Puerto Rico called Aguadilla.  He knew there that they could be undisturbed and uninhibited.  Aguadilla was exotic and exciting yet comfortable and familiar and someplace they could both just relax and unwind.  An extended four day weekend would be just what they needed to and talk about their future and decide what was to lay ahead for them.

They had connecting flights in Miami and they met in the airport lounge.  Cynthia’s face lit up when she saw him and erupted in that smile that was reserved only for her man.  Esteban was filled with that feeling of intense lust and emotional connection every time he was in the presence of his lady love.  Thanks to a very romantic ticket agent who could tell the two were in love, they were upgraded to first class.  True to her adventurous spirit, Cynthia was intent on igniting passions even before they left the runway.  As they slid into the seats she leaned over to Esteban and whispered, “Honey, I’m so absent minded.  I think I forgot to put on my panties.”  She winked and slid her tongue in his ear seductively.

Esteban tried to remain as calm as possible but he was visibly moved by her naughty revelation.  He glanced down at her smooth, brown legs and ran his eyes up to the bottom of her floral-print silk dress.  Cynthia, feeling particularly bold and empowered, shifted in her seat and spread her legs ever so slightly.  She raised the hem of her skirt a little more to expose more of her sexy thighs as Esteban glanced around to get an idea of who was around and get his bearings.  No one was directly across from them, thank goodness.  Esteban was going to enjoy the ride, literally and figuratively, and with any luck, it would be an extremely bumpy one.

Cynthia leaned closer again; this time whispering in his ear of how wet her pussy was, of how she couldn’t wait to have his hard cock pounding in and out of her hot, tight cunt.  Esteban was feeling light headed and they hadn’t even begun to taxi on the runway.  If she wanted to play, he was going to make her pay.  He leaned in closer and slid his hands up the silky smooth skin of her inner thighs.  Cynthia held his gaze firmly as she spread her legs just a bit more.  As his fingers explored her legs, as he began caressing her sleek folds; electricity shot through his body as his fingers felt the slippery juices of her wetness.

“Okay, enough of that sweetie, let’s wait until we land,” she said.  Cynthia was being playfully coy and flirtatious but Esteban had other plans in mind.  He gently pushed her legs apart more and began softly circling her clit with his index finger.  Cynthia hadn’t planned on things getting so public so soon, her plans were to pace themselves, and let the tension build.  Esteban had other plans in mind.

In a smooth, confident tone, he whispered, “Spread your legs for me.”

Cynthia felt powerless to do anything but comply.  She began nervously looking around, to see who could see their goings on.  She tried to push his hand away but the way he was touching her was causing her mind to be clouded.  Her pussy lips felt so good and the wetter she became the more her inhibitions were washed away.  She regretted her rather flimsy, ill-thought out plan almost immediately, being willing to concede that Esteban was far more of an exhibitionist than she had ever been.

The male flight attendant was making his way down the aisle and Esteban’s fingers got more adventurous.  He pushed Cynthia’s legs open wider and searched for her sweet spot.  Cynthia, practically panicked at the thought of being discovered, was doing her best to dissuade Esteban’s antics as quietly as possible.  She began making negotiations, bargaining, whispering whatever she could to get him to stop what she was sure was going to cause a very public and embarrassing scene.

Esteban would not be denied.  He spread the lips of her sweet pussy and began his digital assault on her aroused clit.  Cynthia squirmed and waged a battle in her own mind about her conflicting emotions.  On one hand, she loved how her man was making her feel, on the other, she was too conservative and shy, too scared to be discovered.  Her body was winning the war as her pussy was leaking and her juices were actually running down her ass.  Esteban stepped up the pace and inserted a finger in her pussy and Cynthia actually had to bite her lip to keep from moaning out load.  He leaned in close, brushed his soft, sexy lips against the nape of her neck and whispered, “Don’t fight it, cum for me.”

Cynthia closed her eyes.  She was about to take a trip, literally and figuratively to a place she had never been before.  The flight attendant was only one seat away when he turned to Esteban and Cynthia.  He froze momentarily.  Esteban, not at all afraid to openly display their sexuality, gave him a knowing look that said, “Don’t say a word, just acknowledge and enjoy,” and the gentleman did a quick double take and calmly asked if there was anything he could do to make their trip more enjoyable.  Esteban shoved another finger in Cynthia at that very moment and she was helpless to do anything but surrender to the exquisite sensations he was giving her body.  Esteban never took his eyes off the flight attendant as he continued to finger fuck Cynthia’s hot pussy.  Beneath the rumpled folds of her dress, he was thrusting his hand between her legs.  Cynthia wanted to keep her eyes shut but she couldn’t.  She was compelled to keep them open, to look directly at the very attractive man who was staring down at her, to let him know that what Esteban was doing felt incredible and she didn’t want it to stop.  She was outside of her comfort zone and feeling vulnerable but she relented to the waves of pleasure that overtook her.  She was incredibly turned on and she trusted her man enough to let him have his moment of very public arousal.

Esteban was truly beside himself as he held the strange man’s attention, captivated and frozen with his actions.  The woman seated beside him was fighting an orgasm in a very public place and the man standing inches from him in the aisle of the plane was obviously very aroused by the scene before him.  The flight attendant’s breathing was becoming labored as he held his eyes fixed to the spot between Cynthia’s legs.  It was all Cynthia could do not to scream right then and there.  She was grinding on Esteban’s fingers, trying to get them deeper, trying to get them to hit her magic spot, trying to be quiet.  Esteban grabbed Cynthia’s hand and placed it on his dick, which could was clearly outlined through his pants.  She started stroking it, hypnotized by the sensations she was feeling, her body aching for release.  She could feel the warming sensations traveling her body.  He could feel her muscles tense up as she was climbing towards her peak.  The flight attendant was in a daze, glancing around to see if anyone was aware of what was going on, and cautious of what the repercussions might be for himself if any of his colleagues discovered his complicity in the obscene behavior, and completely turned on as a man.  Cynthia could hear herself whispering, “Oh no . .  . Oh my God,” over and over again, but she wasn’t in any sort of position or rush to stop, she was feeling too much pleasure.

Without notice, Esteban stopped; he pulled his fingers out of her pussy abruptly and left both Cynthia and the flight attendant gasping for air.  The entire scene probably only lasted a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity; like there had been a glitch in the time and space continuum that made seconds seem like hours.  He began casually chatting with the flight attendant about the options for lunch as Cynthia was trying to regain control.  He held his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply; even taking the opportunity to lick away some of the sweet juices there as he repositioned his dick and went about his business like nothing had happened.  Cynthia was still aroused and tingling with sensations.  She pushed her seat back and gave herself over to the feeling that it was going to be a memorable trip.


The isle of Puerto Rico was home for Esteban and he gave his beloved a tour that included not only the amenities the island had to offer but also included the places most significant to his childhood.  He showed her the very spot he lost his virginity, the high school he attended, and the house he was raised.  The hotel they were staying at was charming and secluded and everything one could ask for in an exotic paradise getaway.  The beaches looked like blankets of soft sand made by God for lounging and relaxing even with their ominous-sounding names like Crash Boat and Gas Chambers.  The crystal clear blue water didn’t even look real, the azure color was that of a captivating and mesmerizing semi-precious gem and the temperature invited all those who dared to dip their toes in its foaming surf to bathe in its gentle waves.  Before long, Esteban and Cynthia were settled into their suite, comfortable, and they had shed the stress and tension of their daily lives and were luxuriating in their tropical love nest.  The food couldn’t be fresher, caught from the sea and prepared daily, the sweet and spicy flavors of the Caribbean mixing perfectly to please even the pickiest of palettes.  The sounds of salsa music and drums filled the air, providing the perfect backdrop to keep the blood pumping and the tension of eroticism ever-present.  Even without asking, fruity alcoholic beverages in fresh coconut shells with little umbrellas appeared like magic from young, bronzed, shirtless hunks of masculinity and machismo named Juan or Miguel.


For the couple, this vacation was an opportunity to experiment, to explore, and to take the next step, wherever that led.  Esteban knew that this trip was setting the stage for the next phase in their relationship.  Esteban’ biggest present was to come, when he revealed to his long-term, long distance lover his plans for the future.  Cynthia was considering her own options.  She was loving every second of this impromptu getaway and she wanted to commemorate it in a very special way.  They had often talked about the idea of anal sex but they had never tried it with one another.  After her third mango colada, the throbbing intensity of her pussy and her hormones were convincing her that not only would it be a good idea, but that she was actually anxious to get down to business.  She was the perfect level of tipsy, enough to feel no pain, and to experience that uninhibited freedom that liquor affords but not so out of it that she wasn’t responsible or would get sick and forget and regret everything in the morning.

Nestled safely in the confines of their ocean-view suite, Cynthia smiled, feeling that familiar tingle in her bottom, inspired by the thought that they were going to completely lose themselves in a new sexual frontier.  She slid her sexy body next to his, kissed him deeply, and whispered that she was going to go to the bathroom for a few to freshen up.

Cynthia returned minutes later to a darkened room, the light of the full moon from the open balcony doors the only illumination.  Esteban was reclining on the bed, stroking himself in anticipation of making love to his brown beauty.  Still sufficiently tipsy, Cynthia climbed on the bed and snuggled her naked papaya and cocoa butter scented body next to him, using her body to create some sexual tension and friction.   She grabbed her container of shea butter and positioned herself on her stomach, and wordlessly instructed her lover that she wanted a massage.  He complied happily, warming the oil between his palms before kneading her flesh with gentle, loving strokes.

Cynthia decided to keep her secret a while longer but she wanted to tempt and tease Esteban.  Every time he would get closer to her buttcheeks, she would moan and wiggle around, letting him know that he was doing the right thing.  Esteban was not immune to her reactions and he began caressing and kneading her backside with more sensual attention.  Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Why don’t you finger me . . . back there,” and nervously buried her face in the pillow.  Esteban caught on immediately and started working more of the slippery oil between his fingers to get her ready.

Wanting to go very slow, not for a second wanting to cause Cynthia a fraction of a second of pain, he ran his finger up the inside of her thighs, teasing the bottom of her ass, and traced her spine up and down.  Cynthia was beside herself and moaning and making all sorts of noises.  Inspired by her liquid courage, she grabbed the cheeks of her ass and pulled them apart, winking her asshole at him.  “Do it honey,” she purred, “do it.”

Esteban almost lost it then and there.  He turned the intensity of his massage up a bit and placed his finger at the entrance to her backdoor.  Cynthia had never felt anything so sinfully delicious in her life.  She arched her back and slid her fingers between her legs to her clit, rubbing the engorged button sensually, making her level of arousal increase that much more so.  Esteban, taking matters into his own hands so to speak, slid his other hand between her swollen pussy lips and felt the slippery moisture that had collected there.  By this time, Cynthia was humping the bed and thrusting her ass back at her lover.

“Are you sure you want this?”  Esteban wanted to be sure that what he thought was going to happen was really what Cynthia wanted and needed.

She seductively looked back at him and said, “Oh yes, honey, I want you to really fuck my ass good tonight.”

Esteban almost fainted.  He was sure that was the sexiest thing he had ever heard anyone say in his entire life.  Taking his time, he began his seduction of her backdoor.  He was slow and intentional.  By the time he had worked his finger in her, Cynthia was oblivious to anything but pleasure.  “MORE,” she panted desperately.  He was all the way to the third knuckle when she was saying how delicious it felt, how should couldn’t believe they had waited so long for this, that she was loving every second.  Her pleas became commands, “MORE,” she demanded.

“Babe, I already have two fingers in you all the way.  Are you ready for the real thing?”

Cynthia, quite sure that she could take his dick in her butt, stimulated by the nerve endings in her ass, the sensation of lust, her intoxication, her hard nipples, throbbing clit, dripping pussy and the love she felt for her man, she got up and sensually walked to the open balcony door.  There, in the cool night air, she crawled, naked, onto the chaise lounge and got on her knees and presented her ass like a gift to her man, the ocean a panoramic backdrop to her brazen sexuality.

Esteban got behind her and stared in awe, the salty sea air and Atlantic heat fueling his passions.  He spread the lips of her gorgeous pussy and dove in, tongue first, drinking her juices and spreading them around, getting her prepared.  He rubbed a liberal amount of lubricant on the head of his cock and took aim.  Cynthia controlled the pace and told him when to push and when to hold still by using the commands more and wait.  By the time he had managed to work the entire length of his shaft in her taboo place, Cynthia was sweating and shaking.  Perspiration covered her entire body and shone in the reflection of the moon.  “MORE,” she grunted.

“Babe, I can’t, it’s all the way in,” Esteban responded.  In a state of disbelief, Cynthia reached back and felt the connection of their two bodies.  Other than a brief second or two of discomfort, nothing even close to pain, she realized that she was getting ready to get fucked in the ass.  Just the thought of that in her head made her want to explode, it was so forbidden and sexy and hot.  “Esteban, baby, do it, fuck me.  Fuck me in my ass. Do it, honey. Fuck my asshole.”

A lesser man would have lost it and pounded away with reckless abandon.  Thank goodness Esteban was always the man in control.  He heard her ardent plea but knew he had to go slow.  Slow and steady wins the race and he built up a slow, sexy pace, met with the Cynthia’s thrusts.  The sensation for Esteban was overwhelming: it was tighter, hotter, and more intense than he had ever imagined.  Every nerve in Cynthia’s body felt electrified, she was being pleasured by this new, erotic sensation, the intimacy and the closeness was out of this world.  In so many ways, this was more than just something she was doing for her man; it was something she was enjoying as a woman who was taking control of her own passions.

That revelation was enough to push her over the edge.  She pushed her fingers in her pussy and could feel the engorged ridge of Esteban’ cockhead through the thin wall that separated her pussy and ass as he thrust harder and harder in her back door.  Her juices coated her fingers.  She rubbed her clit in time with his pounding.  Their breathing was in sync and anyone who was walking the beach could have looked up and seen them there, heard their cries of passion.  Cynthia felt the tremors of her orgasm approaching.  She knew without a doubt in her mind that she wanted to make Esteban cum with her ass before she exploded and couldn’t take any more stimulation; she wanted to make her man lose control and experience indescribable pleasure in this newfound way.  “Esteban,” she panted, “Oh, baby, come on, I want you to cum for me. Fuck me.  FUCK ME.  Shoot your cum in my ass.  Deep baby.  Dick me.  I need it.  Fuck my tight asshole.”

Esteban didn’t need to be told twice.  He was already on the verge.  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the pleasure her tight orifice gave him.  Within minutes, he knew he had reached the point of no return.  He grabbed her hips and withdrew his cock almost to the head and thrust it deeply in again and again.  The sound of Cynthia’s moans, the grip her muscles had on him, the exhibitionism, the location, everything served to drive him over the edge and he erupted like a volcano, collapsing to his knees momentarily and then crumbling like a spent and exhausted athlete who had crossed the finish line first.

Breathlessly, Esteban whispered in her ear, “Baby, marry me.”  He hadn’t planned on saying it then, there, like that, but the moment was right.  Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears and she laughed simultaneously.  Even in their post coital bliss, she knew that marriage, the act itself, wasn’t in the cards for them, it was just his way of saying that he was as committed to her as he would ever be, that he couldn’t love her any more than he did.  She didn’t want to move; she didn’t want to spoil the moment.  Esteban knew in that instant that the flight home would be spent discussing the future more than sexy displays of exhibitionism.  He didn’t know what the future held for either of them; all he knew was that he wanted it to include some manifestation of the two of them and the special love that they shared.  The last three days on their island vacation, they fucked, made love, screwed, and fucked some more.  There was to be no more anal sex on that particular trip, Cynthia was a bit tender and needed some time to recuperate, but she had gotten the greatest gift of all in knowing that her soul mate and long distance lover envisioned a future, together, with her.

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK  All Rights Reserved

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