Time

Every time I taste your lips, I’m reminded of how intense every second is that I spend with you. My senses are aroused and I’m lost in your eyes. I can feel my nature rise and my juices begin to flow simply melting into your tender kiss. Every second is a gift in your presence and I want to unwrap them slowly, methodically and with tender loving care.

Fifteen minutes. All I need from you today is one quarter hour. Steal away on your lunch break and love me down intensely but for a few brief minutes. I need to be rejuvenated by your touch, your taste, and your sweet, sexy scent. Save the foreplay and romance for another day and give me that hot, sticky passion only you know how to give me.

Time is really an illusion, it doesn’t exist. Time is really man’s way of measuring the passage of events that occur; it is really just a figment of our imagination. What is real are my feelings for you. Reality is that feeling I have when I hold your body close and I don’t know where you end and I begin.

Timeless love, that is what we share. Weeks, months, or even years could go by and you’d still be connected to me. No amount of time will alter or diminish this chemistry, this magic. You touch will forever send shivers down my spine. I will forever long for kisses from you. Your caress will always ignite my flame. We will spend eternity as lovers.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Sexy DVDs

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

One of the real joys of the holiday season is how the kink community comes together to celebrate. It seems that everyone is allowed to let their hair down that much more, to party like pagans, and to lose him or herself to pure hedonistic pleasure. This holiday season, the Houston kink community was coming together not only to celebrate in grand style, to say goodbye to ’05 and usher in a brand spanking new year, literally and figuratively, but also to raise funds for those in their BDSM family that were displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Meaning, quite bluntly, insurance companies left many Black Dominas from Crescent City to fend for themselves when it came to replacing many of their custom built pieces of furniture, equipment, and paraphernalia while their white counterparts got a check cut, no questions asked. Houston PEP recognized the disparity and decided to have a fundraiser for its newly adopted Lousiana transplants to help them re-establish themselves and to embrace them with open arms and have a hell of a blowout party at the same time.

The generosity of the partygoers that evening was beyond compare. People brought everything from whips and paddles to swings and straight jackets, to a St. Andrew’s Cross and everything in between. One generous benefactor was even kind enough to donate space so that Mistresses Eden, Cree, Ana, Ebony, and Chocolate would have a place to set up shop without much hassle.

Electricity was in the air as the ladies mixed and mingled among their newfound family to introduce themselves. Charlie Papadopoulos was particularly aroused at the presence of the guests of honor. He had always been attracted to women of color and he had acknowledged that he was submissive for nearly two decades. He was like a kid in a candy shop, distracted and fidgety. His wife, Eva, was barely able to have a conversation with him because he was so preoccupied. He hadn’t even heard her inform him that he was going to be a contestant in a very special selection process to serve and worship the honorees for the evening. It wasn’t until she led him to the stage by a leash where he stood among four other subs and waited to be inspected to see if he would have the privilege of serving the Black Dommes that he truly got an understanding of what could potentially happen.

His heart was beating fast and his face was flush. His cock was so hard it ached as he stood for what seemed like hours. People passed by, making comments and speculations about who would win and be subjected to the sadistic whims of FIVE strict Dominatrixes. Charlie swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the floor. He dared not look at the other subs that stood next to him. He felt inferior; his body not as young, lithe, or muscled as his other competitors. He could hear their laughs and taunts as they described his small cock and middle-aged paunch, assured, in their minds at least, that they would get a place at the feet of the Dominas and the opportunity of a lifetime.

The lovely Dommes examined the submissives one by one. First was Mistress Eden. The youngest of the group at 21, she had a lot to prove. She wanted everyone to know that she was truly a dominant and not just a kid playing at being domme. Charlie only saw her well-pedicured feet as he kept his eyes on the floor but he certainly felt the pain in his nuts as he grabbed them and twisted them enough to bring him to his knees. He wouldn’t, however, crumble that easily and he kept his composure through the pain. His honor was at stake and he focused his mind to endure whatever was necessary in order to serve. He would endure more humiliation, more degradation, more pain than the human mind and body was capable of for the honor of serving. Mistress Cree, dressed in a full-length latex gown, and Mistress Ana, wearing a leather corset and panties, poked and prodded Charlie like he was a piece of livestock. They opened his mouth and examined his teeth like they would a horse as he stood stoically as the onlookers took bets to see who would survive the next elimination. They bent him over and fingered his ass and Charlie couldn’t help but whimper. He felt his knees weaken slightly but the prize was too close. Two of the others had been eliminated and it was down to just him and two others. He felt them shoving fingers in his tight mancunt and he looked out into the audience and saw Eva casually chatting away with her friends, oblivious to his predicament while everyone else in the room seemed to have their eyes glued to the makeshift stage.

Mistress Ebony was a super-sized BBW, tipping the scales at well over 300 pounds. Her red see-through negligee showed her pendulous breasts and rolls of fat. She seemed to be intrigued with having each sub on his knees to swat his tender flesh with her riding crop, listening to the most creative pleas for more punishment. Charlie was in sub space. He was intoxicated with lust. The words came tumbling out of his mouth as the crop came down on his body. “Oh Mistress, I crave your punishment. I’m a dirty, filthy, lowly white pig that lives to serve your Superior Ebony whims and desires. Make me endure the most cruel penalties, the most degrading tortures and I’ll prove to you that I want more by begging your to push me further. I’m a disgusting white slut that needs to be used and I will gladly eat your ass, drink your piss, or anything that you desire to show my submissiveness to you.”

By the time Mistress Chocolate stepped on the stage, it was down to Charlie and one other sub. The crowd was in a frenzy. Mistress Chocolate didn’t lay a finger on him. She simply whispered in his ear with a sweet melodious voice, that if she selected him, she was going to make regret his desire to submit to her. She began stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, and rubbing it gently with her black satin-gloved hand, trying to bring him to orgasm. Every tendon, every sinew in his body was tensed as he focused on her words and kept his eyes focused on the crowd. She pressed her very muscular frame into his back and whispered, “I’m going to take you down. You’re the one I want to see suffer. You have the most to lose. You, with your high paying job, your middle class air of superiority. I want to see you kneel at my feet and worship me.” Charlie let out a moan like a wounded animal and fought with every ounce of his being to hold back his cum. Everyone was in a state of arousal. Subs were licking wet pussies and being forced to lick feet as the all white crowd watched with wide eyes.

Charlie passed out. When he awoke, he was trying to figure out what had happened. Had he won? Had he cum? He tried to speak but he was overwhelmed with the sensation that he was firmly secured in a stockade in a room with a glass window. He couldn’t turn his head to see anyone but he assumed that there was a large audience.

For the next few hours, Charlie was the plaything of the five black women. Mistress Eden was intent on using his asshole with her black strapon like he was a whore. No longer feeling the need to hold back, he moaned, groaned, and begged for more. “Oh Mistress, I need your hard, thick, black strapon rammed in my sissy pussy. Fuck me. Fuck me harder, make it hurt. It feels so fucking good, ram me. Use my white slutty asshole. Can’t you fuck me any harder than that?” His taunts were met with the Domme fucking him like a rag doll. His pleas for more weren’t to be heard for very long because he his mouth was quickly put to use licking the huge, sweaty asshole of Mistress Ebony. He could barely breath with the fleshy mounds of her enormous ass covering his entire face. He worked his tongue in and licked the musky flavors as he could hear the muffled laughs as he felt he was going to pass out.

Deeper in sub space than he had ever been, being watched by dozens of onlookers, Charlie felt the sting of even more punishment applied to his ass. Mistress Ana administered a cat-o-nine tails on his back, ass, and thighs, hitting his tender balls. He would have cried out if Mistress Cree hadn’t grabbed his hair firmly in her hands and pressed her hot cunt to his mouth and forced him to drink her hot piss. It was a never-ending onslaught of sensation, each woman demanding pleasure in different ways.

It was the mysterious and gorgeous, Mistress Chocolate, however that stalked her prey. She wanted his singular focus and she waited patiently for the others to tire of using him. Charlie wanted more; he was desperate to be pushed past his limits. His neck was aching as he strained to look up at her. Her toned brown legs were inches from his face. She lifted her skirt slowly, making the crowd gasp in shock. Underneath the short miniskirt was the fully functioning cock of a transsexual. It was a full 8 inches in length and impressively thick. Charlie swallowed hard and started begging, “Feed me that hot black cock, shove it in my mouth, fuck my face, make me suck it like the depraved cocksucking whore that I am.” Not one to disappoint, Mistress Chocolate fed him her entire dick, making him choke and gag. In the zone, Charlie used his tongue, lips, and mouth to make that gorgeous cock shoot loads of creamy cum in his mouth.
Exhausted and sore, Charlie and Eva made the trip back home the next day in relative silence. Charlie could be proud because his actions were part of a terrific fund-raiser for a very worthy cause. It was a night to remember and the stuff dreams are made of for a white sub named Charlie with an incredible desire for chocolate.

Copyright 2005 AfroerotiK

Leather Bondage Kit

Vacation Paradise

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To be a Black domme

Probing into the motivations and core beliefs of white submissive's serves a key and essential function in Black women being able to dismantle negative images of ourselves and redefining ourselves. Knowledge is the key to transformation, and understanding the motivations and drives of subs helps Black women empower themselves to be able to assert their power and control over submissive’s. Being able to tap into and manipulate the subs hot buttons rather than just randomly stabbing in the dark with hit or miss tactics that leave both domme and sub feeling frustrated and unsatisfied ultimately. It's the difference in being a true master of someone, actually controlling their essence, their thoughts and desires, and trying to feel empowered by being an irrational bitch that makes subs jump through hoops and inflict pain based on some desire to feel in control. Just as true dommes know how to identify true subs, true subs know the difference between a woman who is truly in control and a woman who is pretending to be in control to boost her self esteem or take out her frustration on men.

As more and more black women embrace our power, it's essential that we at least come to the table with the information that will enable us to be more than fetishized Black stereotypes, that we will understand that being dominant can be a healthy expression of our sexuality and not just a way to have someone to hurt because we haven't dealt with our own issues of hurt inside. Being a domme doesn't mean you are rude, being a domme doesn't mean you are inflict pain on someone to prove you are superior, and it certainly doesn't mean you come to the table without being fully prepared. Being a domme means you are confident and aware in your self and can experience pleasure from mutual play that fills both the needs of your subs and yourself. No longer do we have to be the sassy Black mammy that yields her strapon and whip to control the naughty white boy. We can be the informed, intelligent Black woman who tenderly and gently breaks down the vestiges of arrogance in her subs and completely controls his desires based on her insights into his motivations. Can the church say amen?

Certainly it helps me as an amateur anthropologist understand the phenomenon of white submission, how it's evolved and the factors perpetuating it. With that information I can either figure out ways to exploit the trend for the betterment of my people or identify commonalities that might lead to me recognizing the same behaviors in men I deal with that are in positions of power. I recognize that an individual's preferences aren't formed in a vacuum.

What is your secret sexual fantasy?

For far too long, sexuality has been steeped in secrecy and shame. Rather than allowing people to grow and evolve in a mature and healthy way, beliefs about sexuality have remained stagnated and dictated by a puritanical standard that makes sex something dirty, not to be discussed, and narrowly defined. This is NOT a forum to point the finger of moral indignation or to stand upon the pedestal of condemnation; this is the place to boldly embrace all aspects of our sexuality. If we are to grow as a people, we must be able to bring our desires and fantasies out of the dark and into the light. You are not alone; there are many others out there that share your sexual preferences. Unfortunately, if we don’t discuss our desires we will forever feel isolated and shamed and never be able to feel comfortable in the skin we are in.

This is your time, your chance to shine. From mild to wild, from sedate to extreme, this is your platform to be an innovator and open the discussion up explore the many facets of Black sexuality. What is it that drives you wild? Do you long to be submissive to a dominant partner that makes you do unspeakable things? Are you intrigued by fantasies of being intimate with someone of the same gender? Do fantasies of orgies, CBT, golden showers, incest, strapons, or cross dressing rev your engine? Whatever tickles your fancy, the importance of this opportunity is to feel validation that you are not alone.

Since I’m sure this topic will be outside of most people’s comfort zones, I’ll start the ball rolling. My fantasy is to have a man that is equally as aroused by being on the receiving end of anal stimulation as he is in giving. I am very aroused by the level of intimacy involved in a man confessing to me that he has bisexual fantasies. I rarely think of vaginal penetration any longer, most times I get aroused with fantasies of anal sex. Tongues, fingers, toys . . . anal stimulation arouses me on a cellular level. If you are up to the challenge, share your thoughts, opinions and comments.

White Skin Black Mask

Yeah, yeah, I know. Fanon's book is called Black Skin White Mask. But I have to talk about my personally feelings on dating interracially. I have often said that, in my attempts to find companionship with a like spirit, that I can't delude myself to think that somehow I would not feel like I've compromised my standards if I were to be with a white man. How could I look at him and not feel a sense of loss for not finding my black partner? It is truly black men that make my heart skip a beat. Yes, I can find a white man that is on my same level intellectually and emotionally but will he make me get butterflies in my stomach when I watch him get dressed in the morning? How can I ask him to be with me if he knows that my true love will always lie with a brotha?

I always feel a sense of frustration at having to explain the black experience to white men. It gets tiring to have to explain racism all the time. Sure, there are plenty of black people that think that racism ended in the 60s, can’t we all just get along, and that color doesn't matter. They can’t explain the disparity in the prison population; the economic and educational institutionalized racism. They are the type of people that would do well in relationships with white people. I'm not that sista. I have never gotten along intellectually or philosophically with those brothas that say that they date any woman, purple, green, or blue. When they start naming colors in the crayon box, that means they prefer white women. If you like white women, then you sure as hell won't like me.

Here's my general rule of thumb. If I have to explain to you what happens during a Black church ceremony, then you aren't the one for me. I don't want to have give lessons before, during or after about what's going to happen, when to stand, when to recite, and what everything meant in a post game wrap-up. (And let it be known that I'm NOT Christian) If the only comments a man can make after a Black church experience are about the music, they are not the men for me.

The comfort I feel with a brotha goes beyond what I can describe with words. I have had white men that I've shared amazing connections with, whom I love dearly as soul mates. It breaks my heart to explain to them that I can't be with them because they are white and they don't see what the issue is for me. They don't feel what my heart feels. They don't know that with a brotha, I FEEL more and I can't let that feeling go.

I dated a brotha once that looked so white that people didn't believe him when he said he was a brotha. He would put black on his applications and people would change it. With the exception of his incredibly gorgeous three-foot long locs, he looked like a white man. That being said, he couldn't have been more Afrocentric. He taught in inner city schools, Africa was his spiritual and cultural homeland, he played African drums every week and attended an Afrocentric place of worship. He wore sarongs around the house that were so sexy it hurt. We were both vegan and neither one of us interested in material things. (Damn that Black motherfucker for being intimidated, I was crazy about his ass) I've not been caught up in the light skin, light eyes thing since I was in high school. When I saw him, I saw a black man. I am convinced I saw something different than most people saw. I saw a magnificent African man. While most of the men I'm attracted to look like me: tall, athletic bodies, similar complexions. He was truly a different color physically but he was the same color on the inside.

I have to wonder if I could ever find a white man with those sensibilities if I could love him? I wonder if a white man like that could exist?

White Double Consciousness

Dubois wrote of the Double Consciousness of Black folks. saying that we have a public persona that we present to the white world and a private one we use in the company of other black people. There is a similar trend in white people that is growing in scope. I'm fully aware of the trend for white people, both male and female, to crave perverse levels of humiliation and degradation from Black people privately. If find that interesting because the public and society at large seems to be moving towards a more racist and bigoted groupthink. I hear the same things from white subs consistently, that white people need to pay for the past, that they feel inherently inferior, that the Black race is naturally superior and that they need to submit themselves to me for the ultimate in degradation.

I'm also aware that white men are becoming more abrasive, threatening, and confrontational when I speak out about the trend. I've received death threats from white men that insist that there is no such trend. I've been called a N!*$$% bitch more in the last year since I've started to speak out about the trend than I've been called in my entire 40 years of life combined.

Here's the deal. I don't think that white people that privately acknowledge their submission to black people rid themselves of the racist beliefs that are ingrained in people in this society. Any country built on the oppression of one race is going to pass on those beliefs as the foundation for all thought processes. The whole, "I don't see color," is nothing more than rhetoric and doesn't indicate anything other than a person not willing to look at their own misperceptions. That being said, this desire to submit to Black people, or more accurately, black genitals, is extremely pervasive. I'm looking for some insight into the phenomenon from someone who interacts with the blatantly racist white people that want to go back to the good old days and who craves mind boggling humiliation from black people behind closed doors. Share your thoughts, perceptions, realizations and revelations about how you have come to the place you are and how you integrate your dual consciousness with your peers.

Sensual evolution

When I was a child, I thought as a child, when I became a woman . . . the theory is supposed to be that my thoughts and perceptions shifted to that of an adult. I’m convinced that one’s orientation doesn’t shift, one’s primary programming doesn’t evolve, one just becomes older and more adept at justifying and validating the belief systems passed down to him or her generationally.

In an effort to define my sensual evolution, I’ve taken some serious time to assess where I was and where I am now and where I want to go in terms of my sexuality. I’m reluctant to use the term evolution because I’m not convinced that my shift in sexual desires has moved to a higher plane. Perhaps it has just shifted around like a box of tissues in the back window of a car on a bumpy ride.

When I was a developing teen with raging hormones and no one to help me navigate my sexual feelings other than my other pubescent friends, my sexuality was defined by my mother’s collection of pornography in her closet. I was thrilled with words more than pictures and obviously, given my career choice, a fact has carried over into my adult life. I learned about sexuality from overtly misogynist and sexist material that objectified women. Thusly, my sexual desires reflected that fact. I wanted to be seen as desirable and subsequently my fantasies were in relation to that. My earliest fantasies were of doing the things that would make men want me, to see me as the most beautiful, to be the most pleasing to men. I worked hard to perfect my skills at giving head; I would construct intricate and complex scenarios to seduce my boyfriends, all my fantasies revolved around giving pleasure to men. Rarely, if ever, did I fantasize about men giving me pleasure. Two rapes, a failed marriage, a decade of being single, and the conscious effort to become more comfortable with my sexuality have caused my fantasies to shift. I no longer have a desire to be seen as beautiful or desirable to men, in fact, my desires are just the opposite. I want to be seen as a human being and a woman and the person inside the package.

For many years now, I’ve been asexual. I’ve put up a wall around my sexuality intended to keep people out. For me, the concept of planning a seduction and performing outrageous feats of sexuality to please a man are totally foreign to me. My sexual fantasies now mostly revolve around me being seduced and pleasured. In my 38 years of life, I’ve only been seduced once. I’ve had plenty of men want to give me pleasure but that really had nothing to do with pleasing me as a human being, it had more to do with conquering me as some sort of trophy or possession. I do fantasize of once again planning intricate and detailed seductions for my mate but the concept of finding a mate that appreciates all of me are the details I can’t seem to fill in in my imagination.

I used to fantasize about being with women; it’s been years since I’ve had those sorts of thoughts. I used to fantasize about sucking dick; now I chant “Eat me” in my fantasies. In fact, for the first decade of my sexual life, I never asked a man to perform oral sex on me because I thought that was an indication of being selfish. I would REFUSE to sit on a man’s face, even if he insisted that I do it. In my mind, it was indicative of something exclusively for me I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. (I still don’t like doing it but that’s mostly because men tend to suck too hard on my clit when I’m on top and I like it SOFT) I still fake orgasms, almost pathologically, because I can’t let go of my conditioning that says that I have to make the man happy. Today, a large percentage of my fantasies unashamedly revolve around reciprocal anal play. Five years ago, the concept of two men together sexually triggered what I call the “knee-jerk talk show reaction.” That’s the standard, “That’s disgusting,” indignation that 99% of people have in the audiences of Rikki, Oprah, Montel, Jerry, and Maury when the concept of male bisexuality is discussed that is blatantly absent when the issue is two women together. I realize now that my beliefs were part of conservative, Protestant-ethic, brainwashing that has no basis in really dissecting the causes, issues, and genesis of same sex couplings. Today, I find myself aroused by the concept of two men together and I also am aroused by the act of intimacy that a man extends to me in sharing his bisexual desires. Rarely do I fantasize about being penetrated and when I do, my fantasies are romantic more than sexual. In recent years, I was aroused by dominating men. Now, I no longer have a desire or need to be sexually dominant I just accept that as a part of my sexuality. I don’t have a need to assert power over men, or to psychologically manipulate them, I simply long to be treated as a queen.

My ideal sexual fantasy at this stage in my life is to have a mate, lover, partner, boyfriend/husband that is committed to pampering me each night. I dream of a man that draws my bath every evening and pampers my body with oils and lotions and shea butter. Completely relaxed, he then takes painstaking efforts to bring me to orgasm based on the things that arouse me specifically, i.e. licking my asshole, fingering my magic spot, sucking my nipples gently, and eating me SOFTLY. Then and only then, when I’m completely satisfied, do I fantasize that I’m so wickedly pleasured that I have to have him inside me and we make love in a passionate and intense erotic experience. Upon awaking, he’s there behind me, to give me the morning wood that I love so much. I do fantasize that I take great efforts to keep him aroused and plan intricate seductions but it’s difficult to get a good picture of how I do that for the simple fact that I can’t see a man in my life.

I’ve tried to map out a roadmap of where I want to go in my sexual life from here but a lot of that is dependent upon finding a mate. Right now, I tend to think that I’m going to be primarily celibate for the rest of my life and that I’ll supplement my sex life with meaningless episodes once a year or so. That saddens me more than one can imagine but I’m extremely pessimistic about finding a mate. I would like to see myself evolving sensually with my mate, practicing tantric techniques and growing in love and communication. Where I go, how my fantasies will evolve is yet to be seen but I will be sure to monitor my motivations and desires in an effort to track my sensual evolution.

Have you assessed your sensual evolution? Have you asked yourself what things went into making up your sexual personality and how have you grown or changed? How are your desires different now than in years past and are they more healthy or have you just continued on without thinking about your sexual motivations? Share your thoughts and opinions.

Spread some holiday cheer

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Black Strapon Punishment

She emerged from the shadows like a panther, her silhouette bathed in candlelight. The round curves of her full Ebony frame were a stark contrast to the eight inches of protruding Black dildo that was strapped to her body. He knelt before her, humbled by her majestic and powerful presence, this Divine representation of beauty and strength.

She caressed the sides of his face, her fingernails grazing his cheek gently. He knew his assignment without having to be told was to lick and suck that strapon to prepare it for the severe assfucking he was about to receive. He knew it wasn’t real but he wanted to show her how much he worshipped her pretend dick, how much he longed to give it pleasure. He kissed the head softly at first then licked it up and down. She moaned in appreciation as he feverishly kissed, licked, sucked and swallowed it passionately. She grabbed his head forcefully and thrust her hips forward. He gagged and choked, tears forming in his eyes, but he knew it was his responsibility to take every black inch deep in his throat.

Thoroughly lubricated in his spit, she pushed him forcefully to the floor. “On your knees slut, I’m about to give you the ride of your life.”

What was she doing back there? Couldn’t she see he was ready? Why was she making him wait? His asshole was thoroughly lubed and he was on he knees prepared to take everything she gave him. He’d spent many nights, in the safety of his home, riding huge black dildos, fucking himself with big hard black cocks. He could take anything she had to give him and then some. He wanted to be fucked, spanked, used and fucked some more.

He felt her hands on his thighs, her nails gently running up and down his legs. He wiggled his ass more, trying to make himself more inviting, to appear more slutty. He lowered his face to the floor and reached back to spread his ass cheeks. His asshole actually itched, needing to be filled with her ebony Strapon.

She placed the head of it against his asshole and asked, “Are you ready bitch?” All he could do was moan and wiggle his ass more. She pushed forward slightly and the head was inside him. He grimaced in pain, the sensation of her penetrating him more intense than any of his solo play. But he would not be denied, he’d waited to long to find the Ebony Domme that would fuck him senseless, to make his boy pussy nothing more than a slutty hole to be used at her whim.

She pushed more and it hit his spot. His dick jumped and twitched and he had to fight to regain control. He feared that he would cum without even touching himself. She was all the way inside him, buried deep in his guts. His senses were overwhelmed and he was leaking precum on the floor.

“Tell me what you want, whore,” she said.

“Oh Mistress, fuck my slutty pussy, rape me, take me, make me your slut, Mistress. Fuck me hard and deep ma’am. Fuck the shit out of me.” His words became a jumbled and incoherent mess. Her hands were gripping his hips; she was riding him hard. She slammed into him over and over again. He was fucking her back with everything in him and she wielded that Strapon with precision and skill. She pushed forward more and he moaned out in pleasure. All 8 inches of her Strapon were buried in his ass and, at that moment, he became an extension of his Black goddess.

Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK

Sista Strapon

Boyz Night Out (Gay)

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