Getting Wet and Sexy

It’s 7:00 and I have a date with you at 8:30. I have been nervous all day and the anticipation is killing me. All day long at work, I was fantasizing about what our evening will be like. My hands are sweating and my stomach has butterflies. I had to leave work early because I couldn’t concentrate. I was distracted with thoughts of you. I take a long hot bubble bath to relax my nerves. The warm water and the scent of jasmine always help to calm my nerves. I’m able to play in the bubbles and that allows me to forget somewhat about my nervousness.

I take an extra long time to bathe so that I may caress my skin and maybe relieve some of my frustration. My hands roam all over my body, gently touching the areas that I am so desperate to have you touch. I opt not to touch the wet, slippery folds of my pussy. I want to save that for you. My anticipation is building to an almost terrifying level and my aroused clit is throbbing. I remember your words and they ring in my ears, “ All of your fantasies will come true tonight.” Some of my fantasies are dark, private. How could you possibly know them? Yet, somehow, I know you have looked deep into my soul. I’m afraid of what is going to happen and it thrills me at the same time. I’m wet now, and not just from the bath water…

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Afrocentric Passion

Her senses were overwhelmed. The aroma of her Patchouli oil and the Egyptian Musk incense he lit to prepare his home for her clashed-- but the smells only served to fuel her passions. The mélange of fragrances made her light headed. Perhaps it wasn’t the aromas at all that had her senses so heightened; perhaps it was her incredible desire to feast on the Ebony King before her. His locs were tied back and the silver ankh on his brown skin appeared to be a key, a master key to her passions and desires.

He untied her sarong and laid his bare brown beauty upon the bed. Her hard brown nipples ached to be sucked. The hair between her legs made her look like a real woman, not shaved to look like a child that mainstream culture insisted was sexy.

He joined with her in a union of flesh and spirit: calling upon the untamed passions of the motherland, transforming themselves into one entity united under an African night sky. She received each thrust and he gave of himself each time. Her pussy was soaking wet and his dick harder than the rose quartz amulet she wore around her neck. Their moans of passion were a transcendent love cry to a place far away . . . far, far away.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Collection of Oil Set

Deep Inside My Neo Soul

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Goddess Initiation

A full moon hung heavy in the summer night sky. It was like a scene from a movie but the reality of it was brought home to Graham by his heightened sense of arousal and the majesty of the individuals before him. He had been selected from a long list of applicants to witness a special ceremony like none other. The Southern Regional Obeah Society was having a rites of passage ceremony for one of its most exalted members. To the outside world, the organization was nothing more than a Black BDSM group that promoted Black Supremacy. In actuality, it was nothing of the sort. It was a group formed to restore true Afrocentric principles and governing regulations to those that chose to acknowledge Africa as their spiritual and cultural homeland. Hoards of submissive whites flocked to the S.R.O.S. members because they were so comfortable with their sexuality and power and it served as a natural aphrodisiac for those wishing to relinquish some white guilt. On this weekend, the Divine Mother Mistress Olutuunde was being given the title of Goddess. It was a sacred ceremony with traditions and practices taken from several West African religions and adapted to contemporary African American sensibilities. Meaning, no goats were sacrificed, no genitals were mutilated, but there was an amazing feast of food and libations and traditional dress, dance and ritual.

Graham had been escorted blindfolded to a remote compound outside of Atlanta. His sense of direction was fine for a while, they started out on I-20 and made their way south on I-75. His chauffeurs obviously didn’t want him to know their exact destination so there were some twists and turns en route that were intended to throw him off. They arrived at what seemed to be a four hour journey at a remote 30 acre piece of land that surely had been the property of a genteel slave master in days gone by. Graham was the only white person there and his own insecurities made him more self-conscious than the actual treatment he received. Everyone treated him with casual deference. He was insignificant to the weekend’s festivities and he knew his place was to watch and to observe and to await his time to serve.

Friday night, he witnessed all the weary travelers arrive and find their accommodations. There were about 35 to 40 guests in all; the majority of which were Black males. There were a handful of women that were also high ranking priestesses in the order, but this weekend they were acting as maidens to Divine Mother Olutuunde. They were to cater to her every need. Graham noticed that the Divine Mother treated them all with respect. He imagined that a white woman would not be as gracious with a similar amount of power, and wondered silently why there seemed to be no signs of jealousy among the women. His sensitivities to the differences in behavior were heightened by the fact that the he was the lone Caucasian in the group and he had no choice but to remark on the differing patterns. The rest of the women in attendance had risen to the ranks of Goddess already and were going to be officiating the ceremony. They remained out of sight mostly, preparing themselves with prayer and meditation in the solitude of nature. They were drawing on all of the spiritual energies and ancestors needed to raise Mistress Olu’s vibrational pattern to that of a Deity.

Saturday morning began a day of preparation and festivities. The Divine Mother was not to have her feet touch the ground so she was carried upon the shoulders of four men wherever she needed to be taken. She actually had no such need; anything and everything she desired would be brought to her with the snap of her fingers. The four men stood by her like sentinels guarding the throne. The women groomed the Divine mother all day, lavishing luxury and pleasure on her. Graham watched from the periphery, constantly aroused and amazed by the beautiful brown bodies before him.

The hand maidens took great pleasure in attending to the honoree. Graham watched in amazement while they washed the long, beautiful dreadlocs of the Divine Mother, at how they used a liquid black soap to create volumes of suds and massaged them gently from root to tip. They gently and repeatedly poured purified spring water from a pitcher through her hair until no signs of lather remained. The maidens then created a hairstyle that looked like a crown with her locks, and momentarily, Graham was ashamed that his fine, limp hair could not duplicate any such style.

He watched in awe as they bathed her body. From head to toe, they caressed her smooth brown skin. Each maiden knew that one day she would be in the same position and she lavished all the pampering and care she would want on herself, creating a space in the universe for her actions to be returned in kind when it was her time to ascend. Intricate henna tattoos of ancient Adinkra symbols were skillfully applied to Olutuunde’s spine, a spiritual road map of sorts for her energy to be raised up through her chakras. Melted shea butter was poured all over her and all ten hands of her lady servants massaged it in to every pore. Her skin glistened and glowed with rich deep tones and smooth, velvety perfection.

Graham swallowed hard as the women prepared to shave the beautiful cunt of Mistress Olu. She lay back on the down filled mattress and spread her legs. The male attendants stood erect in more ways than one, in their color sarongs and bare chests, as they watched. Graham was light headed, awed by all the beautiful Ebony bodies before him. He wished he could just disappear into the surroundings but there was little need for his nervousness; his presence there was more like that of a pet than a participant.

They lathered her gorgeous mons and sharpened the straight-edged razor with precision and skill. Slowly . . . methodically . . . and with exacting movements, every hair was removed to reveal the silky, soft folds of black femininity. They repeated the procedure again, leaving her naked in a way that seemed more tangible than just having no clothes on. Her pussy lips were like that of a flower, delicately opening to reveal her inner most treasure.

Each maiden, one by one, knelt at Olu’s core and made tribute with her mouth. Each woman kissed, licked, and sucked that sweet pussy while the Divine Mother lay writhing in sensual ecstasy. Mother Olutuunde shuddered through a string of never-ending orgasms. Graham, knowing he could not relieve himself during the weekend’s activities, stood in tortured agony awaiting his turn. His chance to drink from the beautiful Mistress was not to come any time soon. His opportunity to feast at the divine core was to come at a much later, more crucial stage in the weekend.

He made his way around the rest of the compound, pausing to take note of the strength and beauty of all of the people that surrounded him. He wondered inwardly how their ancestors could ever have been confused for being inferior. He marveled at their bodies, their skin, and their presence. Everything about them reeked of royalty and magnificence.

Graham casually strolled to the barn on the property where no less than 20 black men were in various states of undress; all of whom were eating, drinking, dancing, drumming and working out. They were preparing for the night’s main event. They were bonding; each man hand selected by a private council to participate in the initiation. Ascending to the position of Deity in the secret order is the second highest honor of the resurrected African tradition. The highest honor and privilege went to the men who were selected to impregnate the initiate. As Goddess Mother, she was to give birth to a Prince or Princess that would one day reign supreme. No one man could be selected to father such a child lest his ego become distorted with delusions of grandeur. Twenty men were selected, each for their special talents, abilities, and skills, to provide love, nurturing, support, guidance and the genetic materials to assist in the creation of the wonder child. No one would ever know who the biological father of the child was and it was of no importance. Yes, for a mother, the child would have the mother of all mothers and he or she would have twenty fathers that would love and protect him or her for life. The child would be the collective of the most superior genetic stuff possible. Graham watched as the men prepared and secretly hoped that their sperm would be the one to impregnate the Divine Mother Goddess.

Night fell and electricity grew in the air. It was a wild frenzy of celebration and circumstance. A huge bonfire burned and spat glowing embers to the cleared holy grounds, the land that held the bones of ancient survivors of chains of slavery and tyranny. Graham was a part of the processional, led in on a leash attached to his cock and balls. His pink erection looked almost laughable in comparison to the columns of Ebony flesh sported by Black priests of the secret Obeah society. He made himself comfortable on one of the hammocks and prepared for a long night.

Incantations were recited in strange tongues and prayers were sent up to the heavens. Twenty men were to make love to this woman, which could conceivably take twenty hours or more if left to their own devices. Each man was limited to 15 minutes to not only deposit his load into the Divine Mother, but to give her pleasure. They had refrained from any sexual contact for six weeks and eaten a strictly vegan diet to prepare for their responsibility. Olu had prepared as well. In addition to her fasting and meditation, she had been trained in ancient Kemetic sexual practices from other women who had ascended to the rank of Goddess. They taught her magical techniques that the Western mind would find inconceivable. She was prepared to give all the men the most memorable night of their lives in more ways than one.

The Divine Mother Mistress Olutuunde was carried in on the shoulders of her four body guards on their shoulders and placed on an altar. It was designed to have her comfortably recline in a position where her pelvis was at the same level of her lovers and allow the sperm to collect in her womb. She was radiant and joyful, almost too peaceful for someone about to be given the title of living God.

Each man that had been selected to contribute his load to the mix stood in anticipation. They stroked themselves to arousal in a huge circle jerk of masculine showmanship. The maidens licked and kissed Olu in a grand display of lesbian foreplay. That alone was enough to get ancestral spirits aroused but that was not to be the grand finale as it were. A cloth bag with a mudcloth pattern was circulated between the men. Each man drew a smooth stone with a symbol carved into it. That was to be the order in which they were to “perform”. A high priestess would send up a prayer and reach in another bag and pull out a stone. The individual with the matching symbol would be the next in line to perform.

Graham was in agony; his balls were aching and he was desperate for some relief. The numb ache he felt was a turn on, he liked being deprived of satisfaction, it was his fetish. He knew that when the time came for him to release it would be explosive.

The crowd was in a frenzy, desperate to know who would be the first. They were chanting and dancing and drumming and praying. Naked black bodies gyrated and moved in trancelike fashion.

The first symbol was pulled. The lucky frontrunner was an artist and musician named Heru from the Philadelphia area. He was honey vanilla in complexion and had locs that cascaded down his back. His 6’even frame was sinewy yet muscular and his stomach looked like a rippled washboard. The muscles in his lean, athletic thighs flexed as he approached the altar. He looked down on Olu with love and affection and they tenderly touched fingertips in an act of intimacy. For the first five minutes of their exchange, they kissed. They kissed the kiss of eternal lovers reunited after a lifetime of separation. Silence fell over the crowd out of reverence and respect. Their kisses grew more passionate and more compelling, to a feverish pitch. Olutuunde’s body arched up to receive Heru and they joined together for the first time. Everyone took a deep breath at that very moment except for Heru and Olu. They cried out into the night in sensual bliss.

Tears formed in Heru’s eyes as he experienced a sensation like he’d never felt before. He was confined in a prison of pure heaven and it was blissful torture. Olutuunde experienced pleasure of her own; Heru’s dick was reaching her spot and stimulating her to fits of orgasmic bliss. She fucked him back, giving him pussy like he’d never dreamt possible.

Graham watched, a lump in his throat, as the two lovers put on a performance that rivaled the best adult film he had ever seen. Never in his life had he witnessed two such beautiful black specimens in such a passionate exchange. Heru was glistening with sweat, Olu was moaning out into the night like an animal. Their body movements were like a dance. He fucked her harder and she responded in kind. The muscles in his ass flexed as he pumped and pumped some more. His steely erection was coated in her juices and he dug his fingers into her hips as he stood motionless and emptied himself physically and emotionally into the Goddess.

One by one, symbols were called and Ebony suitors stepped up to the task. Graham watched as men the color of the sweetest molasses to rusty brown to golden tan and every color in between drove their hard cocks between the sweet thighs of the Mother Earth. Each man brought his own technique yet the all seemed to melt under the auspices of the task at hand. None seemed prepared to encounter the velvety walls of a true Goddess and many needed to be carried away in exhaustion and defeat. Graham watched as each ebony cock was withdrawn from Olu, glistening with the previous loads of cum that had been deposited and his mouth watered with envy. After a few hours, he moved closer to the scene, no one seeming to care if he got a closer look.

As the night wore on, the men who had already gone began to get aroused again and pair off with the maidens. Not restricted to a time limit, they began to fuck like wild animal in the summer night air. Those that had yet to get their turn began to stroke each other. It was an African spiritual orgy, sex the way it was intended to be: open and free and without inhibition. Graham was high from the scent of sex and sweat and incense. He moved closer still, close enough to be but a few feet away from the vessel of Olutuunde. White frothy cum seeped from her lips and he openly wept and stroked his little erection furiously. Hard black cocks, attached to gorgeous Black men, fucking a Goddess right before his eyes was more than he could stand.

In the wee hours of the morning when the last man approached, everyone gathered around closely. The Most High Priestess stood at Olutuunde’s head and proclaimed to the night sky that her energy had raised to that of a Goddess. She spoke of her new powers and everyone stood in reverence to the birth of divinity before them. The last participant stood at the entrance to her soul. He took aim and penetrated her deeply. Olu reached yet another orgasm and a strange light appeared to emanate from somewhere within her. Graham blinked, thinking perhaps it was delirium and orgasm denial that had him seeing such things. He was in a dream state.

The last man fell to his knees and sobbed. He was carried away while everyone else seemed to still be at a feverish high. The High Priestess officiating called Graham’s name and said something in Yoruba that he could not understand. He knew his duty. He knelt between the legs of the Goddess. In true African tradition, the seed of the men that had collectively impregnated her could not be spilled. The other maidens could not be expected to perform such a duty, it was understood that only a white cum slut like Graham could perform such a task.

Graham swallowed hard again. Olutuunde’s cunt was raw and swollen and dripping with cum. Her inner pink flesh was crimson in color. Her sweat smelled sweet and the aroma from her pussy was a cum lover’s perfume. Graham was desperate to lick her, to clean her well fucked pussy. Her swollen clit looked like a tiny dick, hard and erect and needing attention. The blood rushed to his face. All at once, the reality that he was going to taste the cunt of a Goddess hit him and tried to run out of fear. He wasn’t worthy of such a task. The men assigned to guard the Goddess Mother held him by his arms, not allowing him to flee. The Most High Priestess grabbed him by the hair and moved his face closer and closer, his tongue just millimeters from the treasure. Graham was torn with emotion. He wanted to drink the cum from the Goddess Mother more than anything, he wanted to run, he was aroused at being controlled by the sexy men that towered above him and he wanted to stroke his cock with a desperation of a man that needed it to live.

His heartbeat was pounding louder than the drums and he heard sounds come from him that he didn’t recognize. He blacked out for a minute, only to be brought back to consciousness with his mouth lapping up the sweet cream of twenty black men. Through it all, he could taste the sweet cream of the Divine Mother Goddess. The silky smooth lips of her pussy were like velvet. She sat up for the first time for the evening and cum poured from her like a fountain and he tried to swallow it all. His lips formed a seal around her hole and he drank steadily. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of what seemed to be an endless supply of Black cum. Assured that he wouldn’t run, the guards released Graham’s arms. Instinctively, he began stroking his hard cock. He drove his tongue deep inside the Goddess Mother and tried with all his might to lick her sweet inner walls. He was drunk with fantasies of sucking black cocks and eating shaved pussies and drinking the cum of superior men.

Graham reached up and spread the full, brown asscheeks of the Divine Goddess Mother and dove his tongue in to taste what cum had collected there. He tasted her musky flavors and stroked his own cock that much harder. Inspired by the attention to her asshole that had largely been neglected all night in lieu of her mission to conceive, Olutuunde began to relish the stimulation to her sensitive back hole. Alive with sexual energy, she began to hump her glorious, sexy asshole on Graham’s tongue. Graham, inspired by the thought that he could give pleasure to the Goddess-elect, began to zero in on her clit with the hopes of causing her to reach her final orgasm of the night.

He glanced momentarily at the others in an act of asking permission. No one made an effort to stop him. He held her lips open and embraced her sensitive spot with his lips. Olutuunde began moaning loudly. He used his tongue to lap at it gently, circling it, caressing it softly. He could feel her thighs tighten up around his head. He began a relentless assault with his tongue and lips on her clit and held on for dear life. He could feel the tremors in her legs start and her panting was out of control. He licked more. His cock was ready to explode. He sucked her clit and sent both Olu and himself over the edge of pleasure, crashing to a climactic ending.

That Sunday morning, everyone lounged casually and ate to recuperate. Graham wanted to recount the previous events with others, to talk about how he had made the Queen Goddess cum with his mouth, but no one had a reason to converse with him. He watched as everyone packed to return home and continue to go about their lives in an every day fashion. He rode home, blindfolded and painfully erect, only to be able to know that he still had the cum of 21 of the most superior and beautiful black people in his belly.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

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. 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 6’2”, 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.


Slightly 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 having a white wife that would be 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 and twice as long.


“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.


Copyright 2004

Satisfying my Sweet Tooth

How does that saying go? When I was a child, I played with childhood toys . . . Well, I have matured to a full grown man and had put away all my childhood dreams and toys but . . . I still have a sweet tooth. Try as I might, I can’t fight the feeling. When the urge hits me, and hits hard, there’s nothing that can keep me from sweets. My tastes have matured over the years, I am not satisfied with candy I can buy at a drug store, I need sophisticated confections to fulfill my refined palette and I was craving some hot chocolate. Hershey’s or Godiva wasn’t going to satisfy this particular desire; I needed some special chocolate and my lover Regina was just the woman to help me satisfy my cravings.

Regina is a sexy, thick butterscotch honey that drives me to distraction . . . I swear the Creator must have fashioned her after the Goddess Isis. She’s 5’5” and 150 pounds of curvaceous woman. Her breasts always seem to peek out of her blouses, revealing her 38 D’s that create that soft, pillowy cleavage that makes a grown man want to nurse again. Her chocolate brown nipples get as hard as rocks and stick out like the tip of my little finger. I swear I could suck them for hours. Her soft round tummy and tiny waist frame the most suckable belly button you’ve ever seen in your life. Her hips and ass are every butt lovers dream, phat and fine and heaven to hold on to when you are tappin’ that azz from behind. She’s not one to just lay there and get hers; she’ll work for hers as well. She always amazes me at how in tune she is with her body. I swear I think she turns herself on with how sexy she is.

It’s her pussy that makes a man want to fall to his knees and shed a tear however. Hidden between those soft sexy brown thighs is nirvana. Within the delicate folds of her pussy are the most beautiful, crimson inner lips. They open up to one of the hottest, tightest, hot honey pots I’ve ever experienced in my life. Her slippery-sweet juices seem to flow like wine when she’s aroused and she loves to taste herself on my throbbing hard dick while I’m fucking her. “Stop,” she’ll say, “let me lick all my sweet cum from that hard meat.” Seeing her devour my joint like that is pleasure in ways I can’t even describe. My body feels the pleasure of her soft, full lips licking and sucking but my mind knows she’s doing it to taste her own heavenly juices. I can’t blame her, I’m addicted to her taste as well and I’d probably lose my job, house, and my car if she let me eat her out every day. I’d be so distracted with the way she moans, the way she fills my mouth with her cum, I’d probably forget to eat real food. That’s how much I love going down on her.

I gave her a call on Friday night and told her that I had a very special treat in store for her. I’d gone shopping online at AfroerotiK and found the Lover’s Paint Box, a set of three different types of chocolate that you can paint on your lover. I was pleasantly surprised when it arrived, it was beautifully packaged and it was sure to please Regina’s aesthetic tastes and my tastes as well. I know I’m not the only man in line for her affections, but I also know that I take my time in pleasing her and that I move to the top of the line in front of other lame guys that think they are doing her a favor by pumping her a few times and thinking that they’ve done something special. Me, I spend hours touching, caressing, licking, sucking and finding ways to bring her to orgasm. I learned a long time ago to throw out everything I thought I knew about a pleasing a woman every time I am with someone new. Every woman likes to be touched in a different way, every woman likes to be pleased differently, so I start from scratch and have her reveal exactly what turns her on. It takes time but believe me it’s worth it. Not only will she climax harder than she’s ever cum with someone who doesn’t take the time to get to know her body, but she’s always going to invite me back for more. Regina loves the fact that I start out slow, gentle and tender and built up the tension. I massage every inch of that fabulous body like I am a sculptor creating the most treasured piece of art. By the time we get to penetration, she is screaming for me to fuck her like there is no tomorrow.

She arrived Friday and she was a half hour late. Sometimes I think she does that just to keep me on edge, other times I imagine that making that body smell so good and feel so soft has to take a long time. I didn’t even try to pretend to cook; I ordered Thai food and had it waiting for her when she arrived. We ate passionately, the spices and flavors stimulating us for a night that was sure to be memorable. After dinner, we made our way to my den for a cocktail. I had a bottle of wine chillin’ and she was anxious to find out what my special surprise was for her.

“You know how much I love chocolate, and you know how much your sweet honey drives me wild. Well, tonight, I thought we should combine the two. I presented her with the box I had wrapped in some left over gold wrapping paper from some other night of seduction I’d planned for someone else and some ribbon from a present my mother had given me on my birthday that I had thought to save for an occasion such as this. The box was almost as beautiful as she was, sitting there in the candlelight with her shoes off and her legs under her on my sofa. She tore open the paper and her eyes danced playfully as she opened the box. “Hmmm, I’m not sure this gift is as much for me as it is for you, sweetie,” she taunted me playfully.

We laughed and I confessed that I had in fact intended to get much more pleasure from it than she would but that it would be a close call. We opened up the jars and tasted the sweet chocolates. I loved the dark and white chocolate the best and Regina liked the milk chocolate. When the night was over, I knew I would have my sweet tooth satisfied and a few other desires as well.

Regina took her ring finger and dipped it gently in the milk chocolate and stuck her finger in her mouth and started sucking it like she was sucking my dick. I got so hard so fast I felt light headed. I moved the wine glasses out of the way, knowing that things were gonna get heated, quick, fast and in a hurry. I started unbuttoning her blouse, and revealed a beautiful red lace bra that looked like it was straining to hold its contents. She pulled her left breast out, looked me right in the eye, and told me to put my favorite chocolate anywhere I wanted. I took the paint brush from the box and dipped it in the white first. I painted the letter R on the right side. I took the brush and dipped it in the milk chocolate next and painted the left side of her nipple with a heart. I saved the best for last and took the dark chocolate and painted her pointed hard nipple right in the center so it looked like a chocolate chip. Picasso didn’t have jack shit on me. She took her hands and grabbed her full breast and offered it up to me. I lowered my mouth to it and tasted sweetness like I’ve never known. Her hard nipple, her soft brown breast, her hands pulling me to her, telling me how good my mouth felt on her . . . and the taste of chocolate; my senses were overwhelmed.

I undressed her, she undressed me, and we spent the next hour painting chocolate and licking it off each others sensitive spots. She licked my sensitive nipples and had me whimpering like a baby. I put a pool of white chocolate in her belly button and licked it all out. I even painted her sexy toes with chocolate and licked and sucked them while she fingered herself to orgasm.

My dick was just about at critical mass when Regina reached for the milk chocolate and applied it liberally to the head of my shaft. I waited and watched. She looked up at me and licked her lips. Her mouth was like hot velvet. She licked and sucked and licked some more. She licked my nuts, which always feels so damn good. Then she swallowed my head and swirled her tongue around it in I what I swear is some ancient technique she learned from a channeling a tantric priestess. My head was spinning. I heard moaning and cursing and I realized it was me. “Stop,” I begged her,” please stop, “I’m going to cum.”

I grabbed my dick and squeezed it to keep from erupting. Once I had regained control, I grabbed her in my arms and flipped her over and lay her back on the sofa. She held her legs open and I lost my focus for a second, forgot where I was; I might have even had to think about my own name if someone questioned me at that particular second. I was in awe of her gorgeous pussy and just wanted to stare at it for a few moments.

There’s something about staring at a beautiful pussy that leaves me sort of speechless. I’ve seen hundreds in my lifetime in one form or another but every time I’m presented with one in real life I just have to pay homage to the sweetest place on earth, the center of the universe, the place where all life comes from. It’s humbling to know that I am allowed such an honor as to go inside there. And the fact that it gives me so much mutha fuckin’ pleasure is just icing on the cake. I could see her sweet honey glistening on her lips, letting me know she was already really aroused. Her clit was swollen and peeking out at me, calling me to it. I took my index finger and rubbed it softly, making her wiggle.

She wanted to forgo the chocolate and the licking and get straight to fucking. I would have agreed with her if it hadn’t been for the fact that I never, ever, ever make love to a woman without licking her to orgasm first. It’s my trademark, it’s my ritual, it works for me . . . no need to change game plans in the middle of the fourth quarter when I have the ball and I’m ahead.

I closed my eyes and had a moment of silent meditation. I just wanted to appreciate every second of the gift I was about to receive. With my eyes still closed, knowing her pussy like the back of my hand, I gently placed my mouth on her clit. I held it there for a few seconds, warming it with the heat of my mouth, ever so softly and gently licking it. I took my fingers and spread her lips and began to softly kiss the lips of her pussy, having them open up to me to allow me to taste the precious nectar that flowed within. I stopped for a second to use the paint brush to softly paint the outer lips of her pussy with whatever combination of chocolate remained on the brush. With my eyes wide open, I tasted her again, this time, the succulent juices of her pussy were mixed with the decadent taste of the chocolate. If Emerill knew what the hell he was doing, he would have this on the menu at his restaurant. I got your BAM right here!

Regina was grinding her pussy on my face, getting me wet with her juices and I was trying to bathe in them. My mouth was alive with the sweet, salty, earthy taste of her pussy and the most delicious chocolate in the world. Well, maybe it was so delicious because it was mixed with such a rare delicacy. Regina was chanting incoherently, “Eat me . . . lick me . . . suck me . . . fuck me . . .” I took my fingers and inserted two inside her. I made her clit my target with my mouth and began licking her just the way she likes and fingering her. She lost control and started calling me everything but a child of God. Her breathing was erratic and out of control. She was grinding her pussy on my mouth and she had a grip on the back of my head that she would win a cage match on the WWE Smack Down. I felt her legs tremble and heard her muffled cries as her body tensed up.

The night was far from over, we licked and sucked and fucked each other well into the wee hours of the morning. We had chocolate for a midnight snack, we had chocolate for breakfast. I laughed when I thought about how much my trainer and my dentist would appreciate my new found satisfaction for my sweet tooth.

Copyright AfroerotiK 2004

Lovers Paint Box

Creativity inspires passion

The Black Arts Festival was in town and everyone was tingling with culture and creativity, that inspired an ambiance of seduction and eroticism. The Eclectic Café was filled with the artistic elite and nouveau Atlanta renaissance crowd. Juliette mingled about, her usual self, making everyone feel comfortable and being the perfect hostess. Among her guests for the evening was a couple intent on capitalizing on the potential for romance and sensual play. Their actions were spontaneous and their desire for one another was untamed.

“Excuse me,” she whispered to her husband, “I'm going to browse at some of the artwork-- I’ll be right back.” She circulated amongst the crowd like a panther stalking her prey. She knew he was watching every move she made. He watched her circulating; he was aroused by her presence, her movements. The jiggle in her walk and her trademark fragrance always seemed to arouse passions in him that, if he wasn't careful, would be detectable to the other patrons.

She approached him from behind-- tentatively but with the confidence of a woman intent on seducing her man. Her hand found the small of his back; she leaned in close and whispered in his ear. Her words flowed like sweet and sticky honey over her lips. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, the heat of her body against his arm. She spoke without censor of the things she would do to him, of dreams she wanted fulfilled. He did his best to focus on her words, to be present and in the moment, be he could barely keep his own erotic fantasies at bay.

He played along with her game and dismissed her advances, signaling for her to sit during the rest of the comedy show. Undaunted by his reluctance, she pursued her goal relentlessly, the night taking on intensely erotic overtures. She was intent on seducing her man, driving him to maniacal fits of arousal so he would have no choice but to take her home and ravage her all through the night. On this night, she was transformed into a sexy seductress and she was exacting in her detail of her plan. She moved her chair closer to him and her hand found his thigh. He could feel the heat from her hand but his own temperature was rising. She wasted no time, allowing her hands to roam freely. He grabbed her hand momentarily to stop her, he gave her a look as if to say, "what on earth are you doing?" She leaned in and whispered, "I want you to make love to me, right here, right now."

“Uhhh, waitress, check please.” He couldn't get his Amex on the table fast enough. His lady had other plans as she told the waitress to come back later with the bill. She slid her chair closer to him, undid his pants barely beneath the fringe of white linen tablecloth and freed his raging erection. Her silky smooth fingers gently caressing him made me want to throw her on the table and take her right there. She took a breadstick from the table and lowered it out of his view. She was squirming and moaning ever so slightly indicating that she was doing really naughty things. He was tempted to pull that, “Oh, I dropped my napkin let me get it under the table” trick but that only happens in the movies and he was afraid of getting caught. When she put that breadstick to her mouth and started to lick it, he almost lost control of himself.

He left the waiteress the biggest tip she’d ever gotten in her life and he couldn’t wait to get to the car. Apparently, neither could she. She was all over him. It’s a good thing the windows of his truck were tinted. She was a woman not to be denied. She pulled her dress up and slid over in his lap. She lowered the straps of her dress and pulled her nipples out of her bra. He sucked those perfect, hard, brown pebbles as she freed him from the uncomfortable confines of his pants and guided him to the entrance to her soul.

He grabbed a handful of ass and held on tight as she used him for her pleasure. He was caught in a vice, a velvety, smooth, hot wet vice nonetheless. They were both moaning like crazy. He felt her strong brown thighs grip him and he knew she on the verge of orgasm. They barely made it home before she demanded to do it again.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

My sexual specialty

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PRECIOUS JONES

A MANIFESTATION OF PERPETUAL AND CYCLICAL OPPRESSION

The atypical heroine of the novel Push, Precious Jones, is the ghetto manifestation of inspiration and infinite possibility, embodied in a character who has suffered at the hands of matrilineal disdain, diseased paternal affections, and reckless disregard within the matrix of the white establishment. What author Sapphire has brilliantly constructed in the personage of Precious is a mirror for the legacy of oppression and despair that descendants of slaves have inherited, a microcosmic window shedding light onto the inheritance of dysfunction within the Black community under the auspicious hand of the privileged majority. Precious is, in fact, the archetype for the triumphant human spirit; victorious over the endless barrage of external influences that say that to be poor, Black and ugly is a crime punishable by death.

If one were to examine the plight of Ms. Jones superficially, it would be easy to construct a posture of pity for her seemingly simple yet complex character. Illiterate, sexually abused by both her father and mother, teen mother with no employable skills, she seems to be the quintessential victim. When applied to the Black community, the word victim has come to mean someone who wallows in self-pity. If a crime has been committed against an individual, they are a victim, that is the basic definition of the word. That does not say that that person is a bad, flawed, or invaluable person. It speaks not to his or her character, potential or worth as an individual, nor to the ability they possess to overcome those circumstances. It simply says that someone else has wronged him or her and that they have suffered from an egregious violation. Are the victims of child sexual abuse to be held responsible for their actions that provoked their perpetrators? Obviously no, and thusly, the manifestations of such abuses should not be the responsibility of the victims either.

I’ve been particularly aware of a trend as of late in Black people who consider themselves successful, intelligent and/or ethnically conscious to look down on folks in the ghetto. There seems to be a tendency to blame them for being there, as if it were a conscious choice to be born poor, under/miseducated, and Black in America. Academically and in the proper social circles, these middle class folks might even outwardly seem to have compassion for the underprivileged, but let them have to wait more than 30 seconds for their fast food, and their true sentiments come out. They quickly point the finger and claim that the disadvantaged byproducts of the ghetto are unreachable and unteachable, thus elevating themselves on some imaginary, narcissistic pedestal of superiority. It is my belief that the underprivileged, much like Precious Jones and her classmates, are victims of a society that has purposefully perpetuated their psychic retardation and not given them the proper tools to fully develop intellectually, emotionally, financially, socially and any other “ally” that one can think to throw in there. The ghettos are not filled with people sitting around saying, “I know how to recognize my full potential and I’m not going to do it because I’m content living at the bottom of the social ladder.” Precious didn’t say, “I know that I have the ability to excel academically deep within me, but I’m going to sit her and pee my pants because it’s the cool thing to do.” Real life individuals, much like Precious, don’t know how to get out of their circumstances because they don’t understand the concept of anything other than their reality of poverty and despair and ignorance. It is a cyclical perpetuation that has its roots firmly rooted in the bowels of slavery. It is the reality of millions upon millions of Black people “living”[1] in the urban bastions of poverty and despair called ghettos.

The invaluable lesson that Precious Jones and her companions teach us is that there is a desire for love, happiness, fulfillment and self-actualization within each and every human being, regardless of color, gender, sexuality and class. Our hearts ache at her lamentations of wishing to be seen as the beautiful, skinny white girl that she is sure resides inside of her. The reader can easily empathize with Precious because one can see that her horrific mother and deplorable father have abused her through no fault of her own. But the larger issue becomes to whom does the responsibility fall upon in constructing the true culprits within this story? If one were to hypothetically construct the story of Precious’ fictional mother, it is conceivable that a similar tale could be told. Is it not reasonable to assume that her mother was also a faultless and innocent child desiring love and validation that became the victim of abuse that left her warped and pathologically flawed? Could she not have also been the victim of abuses that damaged her so completely that she became capable of committing heinous acts of abuse on her own child out of a psychologically and emotionally unhealthy perspective?

It would be completely possible to construct a similar storyline of a young, Black man that has suffered exponentially at the hands of economically and emotionally depressed parents who fight daily to survive under the exigent conditions of racism. The main character of this story could be one who was without the benefit and nurturing of a Blue Rain or similar mentor in his life to rescue him from the institutional abyss of white supremacy that we casually call education. He would be repeatedly barraged with messages that he was inferior and he would continuously suffer from societal discrimination and repression. Readers would cheer for him were he to grow up and somehow miraculously recognize his true potential and become a “constructive” citizen in society. The literary critique would boldly proclaim that all one has to do to overcome his or her circumstances is to pull him or herself up by their proverbial bootstraps. Conversely, if the story were to have him grow up with this internalized self-hatred unaddressed and untreated, it might then become possible to see how that individual could operate out of diseased worldview of dysfunction and abuse. It might then become possible to construct a plot whereby that young, nubian-manchild then grows up to try to control and manipulate the one thing in his life that he believes he has ultimate autonomy over—women, or more subjectively, the female form. Carl, the main character in our fictitious tale, would no longer be considered the victim in this story; he would become the deplorable father that incestuously abuses his child whom we look up with utter contempt.

Through Precious Jones’ plight, we can see the potential for the cyclical perpetuation of dysfunction. Without the influence of the Each One Teach One Alternative School, Precious more than likely would have grown up to abuse Little Mongo and Abdul in a similar fashion to the abuses she suffered. It is generational abuse borne out of a reality that stipulates that pain and suffering are an inescapable way of life. Culpability for creating the pre-Blue Precious lies within the establishment that passed her through its system without taking the time to recognize that there was inherent beauty and the potential for brilliance held within this innocent victim of circumstances beyond her control. The majority infrastructure is to be held responsible for this ideological paradigm that renders certain children uneducable and relegates them to menial labor simply by virtue of the color of their skin or their station in life.

Every individual, regardless of color, that reads Push should be charged with the responsibility for acknowledging the Divine potential in every human being and for seeing themselves in every literal manifestation of Precious Jones. Brave and valiant Precious is a heroin and role model in that she was born a perfect and beautiful child and who existed in a society and environment that didn’t nurture her potential. Precious, like innumerous, real nameless and faceless Black children, was born and will eventually die never knowing the reason her reality was peppered with such violence and despair. Somewhere in her lineage, in the lineage of all descendants of slaves, a megalomaniacal and evil slavemaster damaged the psyche of an African who was the victim of unfathomable abuses that he or she has passed down from generation to generation. That enslavement created a viscous cycle of abuse in the descendants of its survivors much like was seen in the pages of Push and in the life of Precious Jones.

[1] The term “living” is subjective in that the conditions of the ghettos can barely be considered livable.

The Spirit of Sankofa

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