Femdom Society

Taking the Journey

Black "Maled"

This was, yet again, a very difficult story for me to write. My writing process is unique in that I see pictures in my head and I use words to describe what I see and the plot of the story evolves and unwinds, literally, at my fingertips. In my head, I didn't see Kamal having sex with either Ron or Tricia. I thought he was going to control a gangbang, direct it, quite possibly a gangbang of men who were NOT Black, just to torture Ron. I wanted him to be above having sex with them, to not only be physically superior but morally superior as well. I wanted him to maybe even stay faithful to a girlfriend or dominate the couple with his girlfriend.

Obviously, the story turned out much differently than I expected and as the images came to me, I realized that Kamal was human and that making him asexual or "too good" to have sex with Ron or Tricia would be to make him a myth, so as the pictures came to me, he was able to fuck Tricia well, deliver his message, and still be able to masterfully control the situation.

For me, Ron's description was key because white people assume that when I say that I write interracial erotic stories that show Black people in a positive light, that automatically assumes that I HAVE TO show white people in a positive light as well. It's not my job to show white people in a positive light, but to expose their core racist beliefs and hold them up to the light so that they might be able to see Black people more holistically. Ron Waterman exists in every city, hamlet, town, village, and province across these United States. He might not be AS rich, but his mindset is identical. Ron and Tricia are more real than Kamal. While there are brothas like Kamal who do exist, who are conscious, intelligent, and not swayed by the lure of white pussy, they are few and far between. Ron and Tricia, on the other hand, are so typical, they almost seem cliché. Go outside, close your eyes, throw a stick, and you'll accidentally hit 10 white men who are obsessed with masturbation and who objectify Black men.

Blackmailed

Ronald Waterman had the perfect life. He was an annuities manager at an investment firm on Wall Street making more money than most people could ever dream of making. He’d made a few sound investments and done some trading that wasn’t really above board but he didn’t get caught and he made a bundle in the process so debt wasn’t a huge issue. He and his wife were empty nesters; their two boys were in college and staying relatively out of trouble, at least not the sort of trouble that would get them expelled. Considering they were spoiled rich kids who grew up on Long Island and didn’t know the meaning of the word restraint, Ron was pleased that he wasn’t paying for them to fail every class. One son was on a full scholarship for Lacrosse so his coach arranged to keep his grades up and the other son had been lucky enough in freshman year to find a girlfriend who didn’t mind writing all of his papers. That left he and his wife Tricia all alone in their 5200 sq. ft. custom built home.

They weren’t a particularly loving couple, it’s not like they fought excessively or argued, they got along pretty well in fact, but they weren’t particularly demonstrative towards one another either. Their friends and family would swear up and down that the couple loved each other, and in fact, they did, it was just a pseudo/sterile love that was based more on function than affection. Tricia was still “hot” according to Ron’s coworkers and friends. She stayed in the gym, had standing, weekly appointments in the salon to make sure her dark roots never showed, and her Barney’s credit card never went more than a few days without some activity. At the annual Christmas Party and cookout, she would wear something juuuuuust revealing enough to show off her salines but she was far from the only desperate housewife in attendance who had fake knockers. Ron and Tricia were taking advantage of their freedom and they had some friends with whom they would swap and swing and have hedonistic parties where they would all get high on X and screw until the wee morning hours. Ahhh, life in the burbs was good.

If there was ever a man who was the master of his own domain, it was Ron. He had money, power, freedom, and a wife most men would kill to have. So of course, he was miserable. He hated every second of his life and was consumed with thoughts of extremes. Ronald craved more. He wanted more money, more power, and more sex. Well, he didn’t want MORE sex; he wanted dirtier sex, perverse sex that bordered on the obscene. He was a sex addict, addicted to stimulation from any source: gay, straight, transgendered, alien, animal, vegetable, or mineral. At work, he would look at hardcore porn on his laptop all day long. He got a thrill from having his office door open and pretending to work while he was looking at porn. Of course, there were times when he would close the door and take off his clothes and stroke his cock to completion because he was just so desperate to cum. One of his favorite lunchtime activities was to go to the bathroom on other floors of his office building and “leave his mark” on the stall walls. There were a few bathrooms that had glory holes and if he timed it just right, he could suck off a few cocks and have a “three cum martini” lunch with no one the wiser. Butt plugs and frilly lace and satin lingerie completed his wardrobe under his conservative suits almost every day without exception. On the train ride home he would pull out his cock and stroke it furiously beneath a book, hoping to get caught but terrified that he would. If anyone had paid attention, they would have wondered why he’d been reading The DaVinci Code for five years straight.

In his car, Ronald would drive by apartment buildings, hospitals, shopping centers and even schools so he could take out his cock and pull it with the hopes that someone would see him and get aroused. When he got bold, he would expose himself to some poor woman and when she screamed in horror, he would race off and swear to never do it again, until the next time the urge hit him. If there was ever a case of someone being a pervert, Ron was a textbook example.

Ron’s wife was totally fucking clueless to her husband’s dark side. Years ago, when Ronald told Tricia that he needed time to wind down after a stressful day at work and that he was NOT to be disturbed for at least an hour, she didn’t question him nor did she care what he did during that time. She never went in his “man room” downstairs and while she figured he had some porn down there to watch on his 52-inch flat screen, it didn’t really bother her one way or the other. As long as she could buy whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, Tricia really didn’t care if he had a Cambodian sex slave chained up down there.

Ron was meticulous in taking off his lingerie and putting it in the secret closet he had built. He had more stilettos than his wife and his wardrobe was probably just as big as hers but certainly more trampy. Mini skirts, wigs, rubber and fetish gear, every sort of fetish attire lined the walls of his covert dressing area. The fact that he had enough sex toys in there to open a small sex store would be impressive to most but it was never enough for him. He wanted to own every sex aid known to man and almost monthly he’d spend several thousand dollars buying toys off the Internet. There was a full-length mirror in the closet so when he got completely naked and pulled out his butt plug, he could see his gaping, red, swollen hole. He liked looking at himself lick and suck that filthy butt plug straight from his asshole, first smelling it and getting turned on by the scent of his ass and then making a show of licking the brown streaks and tasting the bitter remnants that made him crazed with lust. The filthy, raunchy nature of his actions would make him desperate to ride a huge dildo while he reveled in his disgusting pleasures. When he finally emerged from his play area, showered and dressed conservatively in his khakis and polo shirt, he would kiss his wife on the mouth and get aroused all over again with the knowledge that she had no clue what he had just done.

Dinners were always mundane. The food was excellent but the conversation was always a bore. It seemed the only things they could discuss were the boys, their plans for vacationing in Hyannis Port, and if the landscapers killed off the azaleas. They were superficial people with superficial lives and content to stay that way.

On a typical day, The Waterman’s would retire to the family room, share a cognac, and watch a little TV. With a few hours of the formalities of married life out the way, they would each go they own separate ways, Tricia to scrapbook or gossip with the neighbors or something, Ronald to indulge in his fetishes. Safely secluded in his private domain again, it was then that he could really let his hair down so to speak and spend several hours indulging in whatever his twisted mind could conceive. When it was time for bed, three or four times a week, they would “have sex”. Most nights, sex would consist of Ron going down on Tricia and eating her pussy. Penetration was a rare occasion for the pair because his cock wasn’t big enough to satisfy her even when he could pop a full boner. He much preferred to stroke his cock and imagine different scenarios being played out in his head.

One would think that because he and his wife were relatively distant, that he would never fantasize about her. In actuality, Tricia was the primary focus of his sexual imagination. Ron dreamt of seeing his outwardly conservative Junior League, Daughter of the American Revolution, PTA wife in the most degrading, undignified, shameful scenarios. In fact, on the rare occasion he could get completely hard, it was always to fantasies of her being savagely fucked by a group of black men with enormous cocks that treated her like less than trash.

It never failed that when they were coming home from visiting her parents in NJ, Ron would “get lost” in Harlem, driving up and down streets, secretly hoping to get carjacked. In all of his travels, the worst thing that ever happened was somebody offered to give him directions to the L.I.E. Tricia would heighten his arousal by bitching and complaining the entire time, fueling his desires with her paranoid, racist rants. “JEEZ Ron, can’t you ever fucking get anything right? I swear, it’s bad enough that you insist on driving the Jag every time we go to my parents but you ALWAYS get lost up here ‘in the hood’. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to get raped by a bunch of those filthy, black guys.”

It probably wouldn’t have made any difference to Ron to know that his wife was secretly craving the exact thing she was complaining about. He didn’t hear her anyway, he was too lost in his own fantasies of seeing her abused, degraded, humiliated and used in ways that would make most people’s stomachs turn. In his mind, it wasn’t about her desires anyway; his arousal came from the fact that Black men with big dicks would take what was his and use it practically to the point beyond recognition. He got off on the idea of filthy, dirty black men making his pristine property something untouchable. Yeah, he wanted to see his wife writhing around in pleasure, to see her coming in an endless string of orgasms that left her weeping and shaking but it was the idea of Black men defiling her that got him off. His cock wouldn’t even get a tingle at the thought of his wife being gangbanged by Asian guys or Latino men. He’d seen his wife pleasured by a group of white men before and, while it certainly was hot to see Tricia being passed around like rag doll, he needed to see the contrast, he was desperate for Black dudes to fuck her because to him, Black men were like animals, barely human savages bred for fucking white women.

Ronald saw the opportunity to make all of his dreams come true when he got careless at work. As usual, he was pulling his cock and looking at one of his favorite websites where white wives were getting gangbanged by Black guys. He was on the verge of cumming when he heard someone clear their throat. He slammed his laptop closed and looked up, cock in hand, and saw the new guy from the mailroom. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t you know to leave my mail on my assistant’s desk? Get out you dumb . . .” He desperately wanted to call him a nigger, inspired by the way the Black men were throwing it around in the video he was watching, but he got scared at the last second and refrained. “What are you looking at? Get OUT!” He shoved his cock back in his pants and felt his face change to crimson red but his sense of superiority and arrogance outweighed what should have been his shame.

Calmly, the young man placed the mail on his desk, stared Ron in the eye, and said, “I’ll be sure to leave your mail on your secretary’s desk in the future. For the rest of the day, Ron waited for the backlash. He was sure within an hour, everyone would know what happened and he was busy constructing lies and figuring out a way to get that guy fired. By the late afternoon, no one even seemed to look his direction and by the next morning, everything seemed normal. He saw the guy walk past his door and deliver the mail without even looking in his direction. He casually walked out to his administrative assistant’s desk and said, “Is that a new mail guy? I’ve never seen him before.”

Lourdes, his sassy Puerto Rican assistant said, “Yeah, that’s Kamal, he just started this week.” Ron saw her lick her lips and stare at his ass that couldn’t be hidden in his baggy khakis. Her admiration only lasted a second and she went right back to the overwhelming amount of work she had on her desk, having to shoulder most of the work that Ron was supposed to do that he put off on her. While he was able to see the lust in her eyes, what he didn’t detect was any indication that she knew what had had happened yesterday. He walked back in his office, afraid to engage in his usual routine of looking at porn, and sat in a daze for several hours.

By lunchtime, his curiosity got the best of him. He went out looking for Kamal to find out what his deal was. Any normal person would have blabbed to everyone and then some. As luck would have it, he saw Kamal enter the men’s room at the far end of the 18th floor. Looking around to see if anyone else was around, he entered a few seconds later.

Standing alone at the urinals, Ron could see the broad shoulders and muscular back of the mail boy. At 6’ even and maybe 230 pounds of hard flesh, Kamal turned his head slightly when he heard the door open and then went right back to his business. Ron walked to the urinal next to him and pulled out his cock. He glanced down to see Kamal’s dick. The strong yellow stream of piss hit the back of the urinal and Ron could see what had to be nearly 8 inches of soft dick extending from Kamal’s fly. Pee shy, he willed himself to urinate and said, “Listen, about what happened—you know, yesterday. What do we have to do to make sure that none of that gets out?”

Putting his dick back in his pants, Kamal said, “Yeah, don’t sweat it,” turned to wash his hands and left without saying another word.

That didn’t register with Ronald. In his white world, everything boiled down to money or sex or some combination of both. There was no way he was going to let some punk 25 year old get away with having anything over his head so he followed him to the lunch room. Sitting down at the table next to him, he quietly said, “Look, I’ll give you $25,000 bucks, no questions asked, but you have to sign a paper saying that you won’t say anything.” There, that should fix him, that was more money than that kid would make in a year and it was barely a drop in the bucket to Ron, nothing a few strategically misplaced zeroes on a balance sheet wouldn’t take care of. He glanced down at Kamal’s lunch and made a mental note that he found it odd that someone with such obvious muscle definition was eating nothing but a salad and fruit.

This time, more assertively, Kamal said, “I told you, don’t sweat it.”

Ron felt like a reprimanded child. His anger raged and he wouldn’t be held hostage by some fucking high school dropout who couldn’t get a better job than dropping off mail. Unfortunately, his perversion got the better of him and he started calculating in his head how he could use the situation to his advantage. He inched his chair closer, his leg touching Kamal’s under the table. Leaning in, he whispered, “Okay, I was just doing what all us guys do, you know. And—look, it’s no big deal but I just don’t want everyone knowing my business and I have an offer for you. I think I have something that you might want that’s better than money. I’ll make a deal with you. You come out to my house this weekend, bring some friends why don’t you, as many as you want, and I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. You can split the money with your homies any way you want. In exchange, we can make sure my little secret is kept and it’s all good, right bro?” He smiled and put out his fist like he wanted a pound.

Kamal pushed his chair over several inches and said, “Look, I don’t want whatever it is you are offering and I told you twice already that it’s no big deal. If you want to jerk your little dick off at work, I don’t really give a damn. You white boys are all crazy any damn way.”

The fucking nerve of this kid was outrageous. Ron was pissed. How dare he refuse to negotiate like a man. Forget the fact that he hadn’t even heard that Kamal was willing to put the entire thing behind them; all he heard was “little white dick”, “white boy”, and “crazy”. Who the hell did he think he was? Ron couldn’t comprehend that a black guy was pulling the strings so he blurted out, almost loud enough for others to hear, “You can have my wife, you can do anything you want to her, she’s yours, in exchange for your silence.”

There, that would solve everything. What black guy wouldn’t JUMP at the opportunity to fuck a hot white wife? Ron learned that it wasn’t the proverbial carrot he thought he was going to tempt Kamal with when the young man wiped his mouth with his napkin, threw it on his remaining food in disgust and pushed his chair back. He walked away without saying a word.

For the next three months, they played the same game. Kamal would ignore Ron and Ron would, in turn, obsessively try to figure out what motivated this strange person. He learned that Kamal had been born in Trinidad and graduated with a 4.0 from community college because he couldn’t afford to finish his four-year studies in engineering. He belonged to something called The Ausar Auset Society but Ron didn’t have the intellect or patience to figure out what that was so he just wrote it off as some sort of Black cult. He overheard some of the temps talking about him and learned that he had broken up with his girlfriend a few months ago but still wasn’t dating. Nothing computed for Ron. How could this guy end up in the mailroom? From what he could tell, he was intelligent, articulate, and all the women thought he was good-looking, even the white women. If someone had told Ron that the reason Kamal couldn’t find a better job was because he was competing against boys like his sons who cheated and lied their way through college and who had jobs lined up on graduation because of nepotism and racial preference, Ron would have SCREAMED from the highest mountaintop that was an outrageous and sinful lie to discredit the white man. Too bad it was true.

It was in his nature to be manipulative, so Ron decided he was going to get what he wanted and he was going to do whatever he had to do in order to make it happen. He’d been tortured for months, fantasizing about Kamal fucking his wife. He called in sick one day at work and told his assistant that he needed several important documents on his desk delivered to his home. He specifically told her that Kamal was to deliver the documents, no one else, by noon and not a minute later. He put a note on the front door that Kamal was to come around back to the pool where he would be waiting for him.

Prompt, Kamal arrived at 12:00 exactly and read the note. He walked around the side of the house towards the back, cautiously, expecting some sort of set up. Sure enough, Ron was in the back by the pool, naked, with his wife, and she was on a lounge chair with nothing on but a pair of high heels with her legs high in the air and her husband’s tongue in her pussy. She screamed a blood-curdling yell and tried to grab her cover-up but Ron forcefully pinned her legs back to her chest so she couldn’t move. She was visibly shaken and Kamal froze, expecting the police to jump out any minute and arrest him for rape. He placed his bag on the ground and slowly opened the flap and extended the package to his employer. “Look, I don’t’ want any trouble, I’m just following your orders to bring these documents out to you and hand deliver them.” He placed the documents on the table and began to back away.

Ron smiled, “Here, don’t you want some of this hot pussy?” Tricia couldn’t believe her ears. Her husband was offering her up like a piece of meat without her consent or consideration.

Brazen and bold, Ron stroked his cock in front of Kamal. “Come here, boy. You know you want this. You know you want some of this white pussy. I’m offering it to you. No strings. Do anything you want to it and I mean anything. Fuck her mouth, her pussy, fuck her asshole. Make her choke and gag on your big black cock till she pukes all over it and make her keep sucking you off. Fist her slack cunt, piss on her, hell, piss up her, make her lick your filthy bunghole. Do anything you want to her. Dude, I really want you to fill her up with your black sperm. Yeah, fill up her white cunt with your darkie baby juice and get her knocked up.” He really wanted to use the N word but he wanted to wait until Kamal used it first to get the go ahead. He knew some Black guys were sensitive about that sort of thing and he didn’t want to get his head bashed in by jumping the gun.

Kamal held back his disgust and spoke calmly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you want me to do those things to your wife?”

Ron masturbated proudly as he just knew he was about to realize his dreams. Yeah, he was four or five guys shy of the gangbang he wanted to witness but this was as close as he’d ever gotten to his ultimate fantasy. “Man, come on, you know. Black guys are so hung and they—you know. God, why don’t you get it? Having a black guy fuck my wife is really nasty, thinking about her being bred black ‘n all.”

Ron had moved out of the way and Tricia was still laying there, holding her legs up by grasping the backs of her knees, her breathing calmed down now that she realized that Kamal wasn’t a total stranger but someone her husband knew. Her pussy was swollen and throbbing and wet with desire. She wanted all the things her husband had described and she was ready for the action to begin, no introductions necessary.

“You sick, twisted fuck,” Kamal replied. “First of all, I’m not some monkey stud to service your wife and second, impregnation is not a sexual fetish, it’s a right and a privilege you obviously don’t deserve.” For a brief second, the couple thought he was going to leave but he started to unbutton his shirt. Kamal spelled out everything. “You want me to fuck your wife because I saw you masturbating in your office that day? Is that right?” Ron nodded profusely. “You’re telling me that if I fuck your wife, if I degrade her, that I don’t have to worry about you harassing me at work anymore, that we can put this behind us once and for all and go on with our lives.” He continued, “And, I’m to understand that you want me to do anything filthy and nasty I can think of to your wife with your permission.”

Ronald could barely answer. He was crazed with lust. “Slap her, choke her, squeeze her tits until they are bruised, tie her up, anything man, do anything.” Tricia was fingering her pussy and moaning her non-verbal consent.

Kamal pulled off his shirt and let it fall to the ground. He kept on his white wife-beater and it contrasted rather ironically yet dramatically against his bronze colored skin. He steadied himself on the chair as he pulled off his pants and left his boots in place. He pulled off his boxers and it was Ronald’s turn to lick his lips in jealousy, envy, and lust.

Kamal’s muscular thighs were a masterpiece in ebony sculpture. His arms, his chest, his shoulders were formed to perfection. With a six-pack of abs that would make any personal trainer proud, Ron couldn’t imagine a more perfect specimen to use his wife. It was the meat hanging between his legs’s that made Kamal the ideal stud for Ron’s demented fantasy. At just over 8 inches, it was clearly double the length of his own tiny cock and the thickness didn’t have a scale to compare. It looked as thick as a can of beer and he wasn’t even hard. In fact, it looked like it weighed several pounds in and of itself and Tricia was fingering her pussy in anticipation.

“Here, get it wet.” Tricia moved to suck his dick but Kamal stopped her. “No, not you-- him.” He pointed to Ron and without hesitation, Ron was on his knees, kneeling before the young man, worshipping his big, black cock, trying to get it hard with his mouth.

Tricia had never seen her husband suck a cock before and there was something very thrilling about seeing him fag out over a beautiful, black one. “Oh yeah, honey, get that big monster wet so he can slide it in my tight, white pussy. Is that what you want to see? You want to see him pounding his big hard black cock in my cunt, stretching it, ripping it open? Yeah, get it nice and wet so he can ram it in my sweet, white holes.”

Grabbing Ron’s head, Kamal throat fucked him without care or concern for his breath or comfort. Thrusting his hips and shoving every single inch down his throat, it was Ron himself who was gagging and choking on that gorgeous prick, not his wife. He didn’t care. To Ron, it was worth it so he could see his wife being fucked like a $2.00 crack whore. He sucked that cock better than he’d ever sucked any other cock in his life. By the time Kamal had pushed him away, his dick was fully erect, hard, throbbing, and dripping with spit. Grabbing a handful of bleached blonde hair, Kamal roughly pulled Tricia to her knees in front of him and said, “Let’s see who’s better at sucking my dick. Come on bitch, get to work.”

Ron was better. He’d had more experience sucking a variety of cocks. He had better technique without a doubt. That only made Kamal treat Tricia rougher, being unforgiving when she didn’t do it the way he wanted. He shoved his cock down her throat and she tried desperately to pull away, unable to breathe or move. She was gagging on the meat shoved in her throat and she her eyes were tearing. It was the stuff dreams are made of for Ron; his wife was being suffocated by a dick that was stretching her mouth to beyond capacity. He stroked his cock furiously with two fingers while his wife struggled to get her hand around the black cock that filled her slutty mouth. Her diamond wedding band shone in the sunshine and that image made Ron’s cock leak.

Pushing her away, Kamal commanded her to get on the lounger again and spread her legs. Anxious to move things along, she said, “Oh yeah, eat my pussy you sexy stud.”

Kamal laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Without any other explanation or commentary, he gripped the backs of her thighs tightly and rammed his dick in her pussy in one thrust, to the balls. Tricia screamed out in real pain. She’d never had a dick that big in her before, not even in college when she’d had a threesome with her roommate and some black guy from the football team.

“Easy stud,” she panted, half wanting him to take it easy on her and half enjoying the pain.

“Easy? What for? That’s what you want isn’t it? You think I’m some savage stud that can’t control my lust for you, right? You think I live to fuck white women, that I’m a barely literate thug who only gets hard for white trash suburban whores like you.” His comments stung Tricia but they turned her on at the same time. He was right so, yeah, she could go along with the game.

“Yeah, you big, black Mandingo, screw this white pussy good. Make it hurt. Show my husband how pathetic his little cock is. Make me never want his little thing again. Turn me into a slut for Black cock.”

“Do you even know what a Mandingo is you stupid cunt?” Kamal pounded harder and deeper.

Tricia was confused. What the hell kind of question was that to be asking her. She decided to go along with the game anyway. “You are. You’re my black daddy Mandingo and I’m your filthy white slut.” Her response seemed to anger Kamal and he became more brutal in his fucking. She tried to push him away but she wasn’t strong enough. She looked to her husband to see if he could control things a bit more but he was in a zone, fingering his asshole and stroking his tiny cock, insane with arousal. Things were just beginning to heat up in his mind, just the way he wanted. He wanted Kamal to use his wife and it didn’t matter to him if she enjoyed it or not.

Kamal grabbed a handful of Mrs. Waterman’s hair again and flipped her over on her knees. She was grateful for the reprieve on her pussy and was expecting things to go a little more smoothly doggy style. Before she knew what was happening, she felt the sting of Kamal’s hand on her pale, flat ass. “OWWWW,” she cried out, the heat and sting of the slap radiating through her body. Her body liked the rough treatment but her mind knew something was wrong. “What are you trying to do you black bastard, taking our your revenge for slavery on me? I didn’t own any slaves.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “I’m not exacting revenge for hundreds of years of slavery on you, you dumb bitch, I’m exacting revenge for being treated like an ignorant buck incapable of anything other than lusting for white women, weed, and cheap wine from a paper bag.” He grabbed her hair like the reins on a filly and pulled hard. He shoved his cock in her again, with more force, stabbing her womb with his weapon of flesh. Ronald inched closer. He wanted a front row seat to the show, to smell the scent of their fucking, to taste their nasty mixture of juices. He knelt behind Kamal and watched his muscular ass flex as he pumped his wife. The scent from his nuts was intoxicating and he marveled at the way Kamal’s smooth brown skin shone in the sun, damp with perspiration.

Tricia was in the place between pain and pleasure. She had never been fucked so savagely before in her life and she was going to pay the price for it tomorrow, but today, it was heaven. She liked being treated so roughly, even if she didn’t understand all the things he was saying. It was all part of the game, race play had to involve . . . some stuff about race or it would defeat the purpose, right? That was part of the fantasy, the hot suburban wife getting nailed by the ghetto thug. It wasn’t hot unless they were playing up the differences, exploiting the stereotypes. About the only thing she could contribute to the fantasy was her constant chants of, “Fuck me with your big black cock. Fuck this white pussy. Pump your black seed in my fertile white cunt. Harder, harder, treat my like a filthy slut for black cock.”

Kamal’s dialogue was a bit more explicit. “You fucking stupid white whore. You are too dumb to know that your man is sucking every dick he can get his hands on. The two of you think you are so superior, so much better than me, that fucking me is ‘slumming it.’ I’m better than you in every way you dirty slut. I’m going to use you, your pussy, your ass, and your dumb ass husband and you’ll regret the day you ever dreamt of having some Black buck fuck you to fulfill your ghetto fantasies.”

Those words registered with Ron as, “I love white pussy.” Wanting to rush things, Ron pleaded, “Fuck her in the ass. Shove your big black cock in her dirty asshole.” That was, after all, the nastiest form of sex. To have a Black man fucking his wife in the shitter was the ultimate degradation. He didn’t view Black men as men, or even human beings for that matter, so having his wife getting fucked in the ass by a black guy was symbolic of the most degrading thing she could endure.

Kamal pulled out and Ron dove for his dick again, tasting the elixir that was made up of the juices of his wife and his subordinate. Tricia wanted to feel that hard cock in her ass as well. She’d moved beyond the pain and felt nothing but sublime pleasure, filth, and raunch at the hands of her black stud.

Kamal backslapped Ron and sent him reeling backwards on the hard tile pavement. It wasn’t part of Ron’s fantasy but he could go along with it, again, because anything was worth seeing his wife being used like a piece of trash. He couldn’t touch his cock for fear it was going to explode. He was jealous of his wife, envious that she was going to have her anus stretched to beyond belief. He knew he could take Kamal’s dick, having ridden many huge black dildos in his time, but he doubted Tricia had had anything bigger than his little cock in her ass.

Kamal would have loved nothing more than to ram his dick balls deep in Tricia’s ass but he couldn’t. It just didn’t fit. He pushed and she cried out in pain. The more he pushed, the louder her cries became. She rubbed her clit furiously and shoved four fingers in her pussy, creating less room for Kamal to work his dick in her asshole. “Here, get it wet again.” He grabbed Ron by the hair and pulled him on his dick again. Ron used his tongue like magic and took everything Kamal had to give him and then some. He tasted the fresh ass juice from his wife’s rectum and savored the flavor. It tasted better than it had ever tasted before, mixed with the salty sweet precum of a gigantic black cock. He spit on his wife’s ass and pulled her cheeks open, encouraging Kamal once again. “Fuck her dirty asshole. Ram your thick, huge Black cock in her white butt.”

Without mercy or consideration, Kamal did just that. He shoved his cock in, pushed, shoved and rammed until every inch was embedded deep in Tricia’s ass. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he started fucking her, concentrating on making sure he drove every millimeter of his dick deep in her and withdrew it all the way to the head before he rammed it in deeper and harder than before. The only thing that made him stop was to take it all the way out so her husband could lick and suck his dick clean. He fucked her so hard he sort of felt sorry for her except she kept saying, “Oh god, please don’t stop, it feels so good.”

Kamal fucked her asshole for twenty minutes straight. Her ass was red from being spanked and her hole gaped open like the Midtown Tunnel. It was so loose and sloppy, he could barely feel any friction. “You, shithead, get over here and take her place.” He pushed Tricia out of the way and motioned for Ron to assume the position. He scrambled to get on his knees without a second’s hesitation at his wife seeing him accept a black dick but Kamal stopped him. “I want you to see my face.” Yeah, that would work for Ron, he could get off on that. He liked the idea of showing off his own little cock while he got a huge black one rammed in his manpussy. Mmmm, that thought was delicious. It was no longer about his wife, this was about the fulfillment of his sissy slut fantasies where he would become the whore for black cock, he would be degraded and used.

Kamal placed his hand over Ron’s mouth. If he was going to cum, he couldn’t listen to that insane “big black buck” drivel. He felt no mercy for Mr. Waterman so he fucked him like he was trying to kill him with his dick. His rage boiled up and he thrust deep and hard until he felt the first shot of cum go deep within his boss’s ass. He fell back, exhausted, and watched as Tricia dove for her husband’s dirty creampie without any instructions.

Both still aroused, the pair then collectively dove for Kamal’s cock, cleaning his cock of their collective juices. Kamal let them lick him from front to back before he aimed his soft cock in their faces and emptied his bladder. He dove in the pool and seemed to be cleaning himself of the stench and filth of the white couple. Dried and dressed, he left without so much as a goodbye.

Ron had never been more pleased with himself. He dove for Tricia’s pussy and asshole and ate her out for the rest of the evening, never putting on clothes, never more than a few minutes from trying to see if he could taste the evidence of her hot black fuck. The next day, he casually strolled into the office and saw a manila envelope on his desk. He opened it and found a DVD. His heart dropped. He opened it and placed the disc in his laptop. The camera had been hidden in the mailbag. He shut the laptop and called Lourdes on the intercom. “I want to see about getting a new intern. See if that guy from the mailroom might be interested.”

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK

Question

The book that I've been trying to get published for the past three years is still nothing more than a bunch of word documents on my computer. IMHO, it's some of the very best writing I've ever done. I've been pretty stubborn about the fact that I MUST include the chapters that show gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered sex in the same book as the straight stories because I want ALL people of color to feel validation, to see themselves in a postive sexual light. Would you buy a book of erotic stories and photography if it included 10 chapters of images you found arousing and one or two chapters that you weren't aroused by? I'd love to know your opinion.

Seeking Vibrational Balance

I’m looking for connection with men who are my equals: mentally, spiritually, intellectually, physically, emotionally, socially, and sexually.

Mentally – You despise the N word, carry yourself with integrity, character, and grace, actively seek to continually free yourself from the mental chains of slavery. You accept that you still have healing to do, hate commercial radio, TV, and movies, be voluntarily simplistic, environmentally conscious, have an abhorrence of corporate America, non-materialistic, extremely liberal political position, non-conformist, down-to-earth, family-centric, creative, artistic

Spiritually – You practice something other than Christianity, Islam, or Judaism, You practice metaphysical, Kemetic, or African based spirituality, meditate daily, seek harmony and balance with the universe, and are prayerful.

Intellectually – You are able to grasp complex intellectual concepts, logical, methodical, linear yet abstract, cerebral, able to see things from multiple perspectives, have a high IQ, are a seeker of knowledge, able to teach concepts to the masses in an easily digestible manner.
Physically – You are tall, active, fit, attractive, live off a plant-based diet, and respect holistic, natural cures over Western medicine

Emotionally – You have faced your inner demons, dealt with the issues that have hurt you, are introspective, emotionally mature, slow to anger, at peace, centered, calm, serene, rational, compassionate, considerate of other’s feelings, selfless, able to articulate your feelings, respectful of other’s feelings, and you are completely capable of giving and receiving unconditional love in a healthy manner.

Socially – You are a leader, enjoy jazz, live music, art, cultural events, appreciate good food and socializing with a variety of friends. Respect Black art, don’t watch much TV, concerned about lifting the consciousness of the Black community.

Sexually – You are openly bisexual and proud of it, capable of monogamy in a relationship, sex-positive and tolerant of everyone’s sexual preferences, sensual, romantic, tactile, and AfroerotiK.
If that sounds like you, I’d love to just converse.

Who's got Jungle Fever?

This was perhaps, the most difficult story I’ve ever written. No, this was, by far, without a doubt, the hardest story I’ve ever written. It challenged me in ways that no other story has even come close to doing.

I got the idea to write a story about a black man and a white woman because my repertoire is dangerously light on that theme. I have a ton of stories about white men with Black women, mostly driven by the fact that white men request interracial stories, NOT because that’s a preference of mine. In each of those stories, whether it be romantic or about domination, I make sure I show Black women in a healthy, positive, empowered light. They are never ghetto whores, or blinded by the mystical allure of interracial lust, they are in charge, intelligent, articulate women of color who are autonomous and, in some cases, dangerously efficient at manipulating the desires of white men. In most cases, people aren’t even aware enough to notice the social commentary; they just fast forward to the sex or they only absorb the story on a very superficial level.

Because I don’t have many stories about black men and white women, I decided to tackle it head on. My first inclination was to make it a romantic story and I almost wish I had. That would have been easier for me I’m sure. I could have written a story where the characters would just happen to be different colors and I could have made their choice to date interracially not one driven by stereotypes and racist beliefs but of two people with common interests who felt an attraction for one another. What do they say, always go with your first instinct?

When I sat down to write this particular story, I was overwhelmed with the need to address the large portion of Black men who date interracially and address some of the reasons they do so. They are the least culturally conscious so they are the last group of people to understand their motivations or be able to articulate them. They are also the demographic least likely to read a story of mine. So starting off, I was writing a story about a segment of the population who wasn’t even going to read it. That’s difficult for me because of the customized nature of my work. My goal in writing usually is to arouse the reader of my story and I knew from the beginning that if Black men who did date and fuck white women were to read the story, the things I wrote about in the story would offend them.

Then, I had to take into consideration that the demographic who WAS going to be reading the story the most was white men. They seek out erotic stories about Black men and white women more than any other audience. The vast majority of white men are oblivious to any reality other than their own so I had to choose every single word carefully. I had to put myself in the mindset of a white man who was going to be reading the story and try my best to educate them but also remember that most of what I was saying was going to go WAY over their heads. They weren’t going to be reading the story and taking away from it the more important messages of how dysfunctional most interracial sex really is. All they were going to be doing would be masturbating to the story, more than likely just skipping ahead to the sex parts. Still, I wanted to write a story that would give the few that were cognizant enough to pick up on the underlying themes something to think about.

Black people in general, unfortunately, in many instances, don’t look deeper than the superficial when reading my stories. So again, I’m faced with trying to educate people who were only going to take away from the story the concept that a Black man was saying he hated Black women, and that he was only attracted to white women, and not get the how’s and why’s of how that mindset was really formed in a lot of Black men. More importantly, I knew the vast majority of Black readers were going to see that behavior as merely self-hatred, not a manifestation of slave mentality that has gone un-addressed and unchecked for generations. For all of our flaws and shortcomings, being a victim to mindsets we learned in slavery that have been passed down for generations is not our fault. That doesn’t mean they are acceptable or excusable, it just means they need to be examined and healed.

This very well could be a true story. The characters were not atypical or unique in the fact that they did anything extraordinary; they were average. If you go into a racially mixed club in any town in America, you could see the characters of this story in real life. The things they said were things that have been repeated time and time again by real people, in similar situations. The numbers of Black men who date and/or fuck white women exclusively continues to grow by leaps and bounds, fueled by white America’s lust for the black male body (including the perpetuation of the Mandingo myth), a social climate where any discussion of race other than, “Color doesn’t matter,” is silenced, and racism that eats at the self-esteem of Black men whereby they feel as Darren felt.

Jenny wasn’t bright. One can only assume her attractiveness was the kind that can be found in any Hooter’s restaurant or a Girls Gone Wild video. Her commentary on race was cliché. Her need to be degraded and treated like a slut is symptomatic of a society that has raised a generation of girls to believe that their attractiveness is their only value in life.

Darren’s perceptions on race were formed by racism. For a child, being in an environment where your peers aren’t sensitive to race, where there is no racial tolerance, where Black children are in the minority, and being raised by parents who are trying to instill in them to deny their blackness, it becomes easy to see how self hatred could fester and grow in the mind of a young child. We live in a society that doesn’t show Black women as attractive and then we expect Black men to see them as such when ALL they’ve been shown are images of white women and told how beautiful they are. Black boys see countless images of white women. The first sexual images they see are more than likely going to be in Playboy or Penthouse and be of white women, so logically, their arousal is going to be tied to white women. Yes, Darren was self-hating, but I tried my best to show how he came to be. Well, I did the best I could in a story that was supposed to be erotic.

The entire first half of the story was dedicated to the examination of race in this society. Then, I transition by saying, “An intelligent person might want to contemplate what made this privileged, twenty-something white girl, who had never had a responsibility in her life, crave being used like a fucking rag doll by black men while spewing the most vile racist epithets . . . but who has time for such cerebral musings?” That creates the shift. Then the story becomes hardcore. The sex is visceral and raw, abusive even. It speaks to the way racist white men want to see white women treated by black men and, I can only assume, the ways in which interracial couples who are driven by racist fantasies might interact sexually. I had difficulty writing the sex portion, which is usually the easiest part for me, so I took the sex from another story and just changed the names. I was literally drained by writing the first half of the story to the point where constructing the sex scene was beyond my capabilities.

I’m proud of the finished product in a way that I’d love to see the story examined in a college class on race or debated and discussed in an academic setting. For now, I’ll have to be satisfied knowing that somewhere, someone might read it and walk away with a better understanding of the intricacies of race and sexuality.

Catering to a Man’s Ego

I was asked to be a participant in a group chat the other evening. The participants included four women and one man. They were talking about, and all in agreement with, how there are certain instances when a woman has to cater to a man’s ego. In fact, they said that if a woman didn’t cater to a man’s ego, that made her a bad woman. When I spoke up in dissention, they got offended, saying that I wasn’t being supportive of Black men and insisting that men were fragile and needed their egos stroked in order to function properly. Catering to a man’s ego and being supportive are two different things.

Catering to a man’s ego is to allow him to continue to hold on to dysfunctional beliefs and practices in order to make him feel good. Being supportive is helping him grow, mature, and being there to be a shoulder to cry on in his hour of need. Being loving is showing affection and nurturing him because you care about him, his happiness, and his well-being as a person. To cater to a man’s ego is to feed his insecurities, to foster dysfunction in your relationship, and to perpetuate unhealthy ideologies.

The example was given that if a man lost his job, that before they go out to dinner the woman should give him the money to hold in order to allow him to pay for the meal in public. How absurd. If a man loses his job, and he can’t deal with a woman paying for dinner, then he’s emotionally immature. Moreover, in order for a woman to be supportive and loving, rather than catering to his male ego, she would be better off helping him work on his resume, emailing him job opportunities that match his needs, or taking that money and having his suit dry cleaned or doing administrative work to help him start his own business.

We live in a society where the male ego has gone rampant and unchecked. It needs to be reigned in. It needs to be harnessed and controlled in order to move the emotional maturity of Black men ahead. We, as Black women, MUST stop catering to a man’s ego. Black men are egotistical, expecting women to cower at their whim, jump through hoops in order to satisfy their needs, and blaming Black women for all sorts of things without taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings and misperceptions. The fact that we, as a society, equate a woman’s worth with her ability to appease a man’s ego speaks volumes about how diseased we are.

Jungle Fever

Darren was a brotha on a mission. It was Friday night and the club lights were coming up and it was time to take someone home and this white chick he’d been talking to didn’t even put up the pretense of playing hard to get. Darren had more than Jungle Fever; he had Sub-Saharan Tropical Rain Forest Malaria and slutty white girls were his penicillin. The object of his affection smelled of beer, cigarettes, and hair spray. Her drug-store eyeliner was smudged and all that was left of her lipstick was a barely detectable line of equally cheap, pink lip-liner framing her thin lips. The rest of her lipstick was adorning the six or seven bottles of beer she’d consumed. Her name was Jeannie . . . Janey . . . Jenny, something like that, but her name really didn’t matter to him. She was so wasted, he could have called her Matilda and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She grabbed her purse and air kissed the girlfriends she had gotten a ride with goodbye and trailed behind Darren, stumbling and teetering on her cheap heels, completely comfortable leaving with a total stranger she’d only met an hour ago.

Darren held her arm, making sure she wouldn’t fall and bust her ass. When they got outside to his truck, he had to hold her blonde hair back from her face as she blew big chunks in the parking lot. Better projectile vomit there than in his vehicle. Behind the tinted windows and feeling better having relieved herself of some of that alcohol, she started chatting away. “Turn on the radio. Ohhhh, 50cent, I LOVVVE him. He’s so gangsta. You know what I mean? Keeping it real. From the streets. Word. Me and my girlfriends would love to just hang out with him and his homies, ya know?” She turned up the radio as loud as it would go and leaned out the window like she was a Crip in South Central. Never mind the fact that the closest she’d ever been to any hood was getting lost in Hartford once and driving into an area where she felt like she had to lock her doors. “And his wife Beyonce is so pretty right? She’s got a real badunkkadunk. She’s got some junk in the trunk, you know what I’m saying? Drop it like it’s hot. Drop it like it’s hot. Black women have the best asses. I wish I had a big ole booty like black women.”

Darren was concentrating on the drive home. He contemplated telling her that Beyonce was married to Jay-Z, not 50cent, but what was more important to address was the fact that she had struck a nerve with him and he had to set her straight. “I don’t like those big, jungle butts. Fuckin’ black chicks wit their Ubangie butts ‘n shit, n’ big lips n’ shit. Fuck dat. Gorilla lookin’ bitches . . ." He was hardly finished detailing what he considered the many repulsive features of Black women but Jenny passed out somewhere in the middle of his diatribe.

She woke up and continued on with her conversation like she hadn’t missed a beat. “What do you do? I go to school at Stamford. I’m studying to be a whatchamacallit, a anthropologist, they study people, you know what I’m saying? I really want to be a interior designer or a makeup artist but my parents made me take anthropologism. It totally sucks. What do you do? Are you a drug dealer? You look like this guy I fucked once who was a drug dealer. He had some awesome X, dude. God, his cock was huge. Black guys are really packing. I only fuck black guys, you know what I’m saying? You know what they say, ‘Once you go black you never go back.’ Black guys are the bomb in bed. Man, I swear if my dad ever found out that I was fucking niggers . . . oops, sorry, I mean niggazz, you now what I’m saying, he would kill me.” Jenny’s penchant for talking without caring if the other person contributed or not, heightened by her inebriation, didn’t seem to bother Darren one teeny, tiny, little bit. He wasn’t even particularly disturbed by the fact that her “hood” vernacular came directly from MTV or that she had stereotyped him as a degenerate. He thought she was hot and that was all he cared about.

They arrived at Darren’s apartment in no time at all. It was a fairly decent complex with a pretty diverse group of residents, not too extravagant, certainly not the ghetto. They pulled into the parking lot in front of his building and Jenny couldn’t wait to get things started. The second Darren turned off the engine, she dove for his cock. She didn’t mind the taste of another woman’s pussy on his dick, or at least she didn’t say that she did, because Darren had fucked some random bitch in the bathroom at the club for a hot minute. It had been just long enough to get his dick wet but not enough to cum, so he was ready for some head and then some hot pussy. Jenny didn’t disappoint. She sucked his cock like a porn star, gagging on it and deep throating it, spitting on it and begging to get her face fucked, all while still in the front seat of his car.

It was time for them to get more comfortable so he pushed her away, with some difficulty mind you, she was really intent on giving him head, and zipped up. True to the nature of most drunken white girls, Jenny felt the need to flash her tits to the world in the cool night air. Some old white dude had paid good money for her brand new 38DD’s in exchange for the opportunity to eat her pussy any time he called and she was damn proud to show them off whenever the mood hit her. “Yeah, you like my hot, fucking tits, Derrick? Woo Hoo!” If she’d been on the beach in Daytona during Spring Break, it might have been appropriate. At 2:30 in the morning in a residential apartment complex in Connecticut, it was rude and inconsiderate. And apparently, knowing his name wasn’t a priority to her either.

The lights in the first floor apartment came on with all the commotion and Darren quickly grabbed Jenny by the arm and quickly pulled her towards the stairs to his second-story walk up. His downstairs neighbor was used to being awakened by Darren and his endless string of trampy white women in the middle of the night.

“Quiet down,” he said, “that fucking bitch who lives downstairs from me is always giving me dirty looks. She’s just fucking jealous I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.”

“YEAH, FUCKING JEALOUS CUNT BITCH!” Jenny yelled into the night towards the complete stranger’s apartment. “I’m going to get this big, fucking, black cock and you won’t get any, you ugly whore.”

Darren’s downstairs neighbor was neither ugly nor was she a whore. She was a quiet, attractive, young Black woman who was far more tolerant as a neighbor than most people would have been. She never called the cops or anything but she didn’t bake cookies for him at Christmas either. Darren hated her with a passion because he just knew that every time she looked at him that she was judging him for dating white women exclusively. It really didn’t matter that he was completely fabricating her thoughts in his mind. He especially couldn’t stand the sight of her because she wore her hair in dreadlocks and he thought it was just plain stupid to wear a hairstyle that reminded the whole world that her hair was nappy and ugly. He kept his own head shaved bald so he didn’t have to answer questions from girls about his own particularly dense hair texture.

Darren had never, not once in his life, dated a Black woman. From the time he was in the first grade, he wanted to sit next to the white girls, just like all the women he saw on TV. When all the little white boys on his little league team were making fun of him, making a game out of calling him the various racial slurs they’d learned from their older brothers and neighborhood friends, he learned then that being white was better than being black. In his little adolescent mind, he wished he could be white. He knew he couldn’t but as long as white girls liked him, he felt validation. He especially hated black girls because they reminded him that he would always be those names the other boys called him. In high school he was a jock and he played sports year round in order to be with all the cheerleaders. In his predominately white college, he was the campus stud, having white girls line up in the dorm hallway to swing on his Mandingo cock. He made it known to the few black girls on campus that even an ugly white girl was WAY better than any black girl. He didn’t like the fat ones so much, but he’d rather have a slutty looking white girl to bang than a black chick any day of the week.

Now that he was a productive member of the community, holding down a job as a fireman, he had plenty of Black male friends, all of whom only dated white women coincidentally. He stayed as far away from Black women as he possibly could. He thought Black women were ugly, loud, unsupportive, sassy, and stupid. The KKK could have used him as a spokesperson when it came to his opinion of black women. He’d never even so much as had a conversation with a Black woman other than his mother and his sister, let alone dated one, so he had no way of knowing what Black women were really like. Assured that there wasn’t a burglar breaking in or that no one needed assistance, his downstairs neighbor turned off her light just as the pair passed her front door and Darren said in a voice loud enough to make sure she heard, “Black bitch.”

That inspired Jenny to give her little speech about race, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. “What the fuck is her problem? Doesn’t she know color doesn’t matter? Geez, Martin Luther King said that thing about . . . you know . . . about how color doesn’t matter. I’m not racist. I only fuck Black cocks. Get over it you fucking jungle bunny, slavery was over a long time ago.” It was pretty much assured that Jenny wouldn’t be getting a job doing diversity or sensitivity training upon graduation.

Once inside his sparsely furnished apartment, Jenny wanted the party to start. “You got any meth? I need something to keep my buzz going. Fuck, I need a drink really bad.” She started pulling off her denim mini skirt, g-string, and top, of course, leaving on her heels, and started posing like Paris Hilton at a photo shoot. “Hey,” she said with a flash of drunken brilliance, “why don’t you call some of your friends over and we can all party, you know what I’m saying, and get really freaky. I need some fucking black horse cock rammed in me. Gangbang style, you know what I’m saying? I swear, I’m such a fucking slut, right?”

Darren handed her a glass of straight vodka and she downed it in one gulp. He ignored her question about calling some friends because he wanted her all to himself. He wanted to prove to her that he was all the savage beast she needed. He was going to blow her back out with all eight, thick, ebony inches of his equipment. He was certainly larger than average by every calculation and most white guys would KILL to have a cock as big as his, but he felt insecure because he didn’t have a 12 inch dick and he didn’t need the completion.

His bedroom was just as desolate as the rest of the apartment, with only a mattress on the floor; two pillows and filthy sheets that looked like they had been screwed on a few times too many that were crumpled up in the corner. Darren pushed her down roughly but that was okay with her. Jenny wanted to play and play hard so she made it known. “Come on, fuck this dirty white cunt. You love this nasty white pussy, don’t you?” She spread her legs and bared her bald slit. At 5’3” and a couple of ounces shy of anorexic, she looked like the pre-teen she was trying to emulate with her shaved twat. With the exception of her massive fake tits, she couldn’t didn’t have enough meat on her to cover her rib cage or hipbones.

She rammed three fingers in her loose, sloppy twat and started fucking herself. She shoved those same fingers in her mouth and sucked them, tasting her juices but more importantly, getting them wet so she could shove them in her asshole. Flipping over on her knees, she rammed her fingers in her ass. Ray Charles could see that she had fisted her own ass numerous times in the past, or at least someone had fisted her, considering the ease with which she took those three fingers. She made a show of licking her ass juice off her fingers and ramming them back up her asshole a few times. “Oh yeah, I want you to fuck my tiny white asshole too, ram your big, black cock up there.”

Darren didn’t want be on deck anymore, it was time for his turn at bat. He took off his clothes and climbed on top of her. They kissed, swapping spit and tongues. Her thin, non-existent lips, in comparison to his full, sensual lips, were ideal to him. He liked anything that wasn’t like him. He loved her pointy, pug nose, her stringy, dyed blonde hair felt luxurious in his tight grasp, her pale skin that was now red with arousal looked erotic next to his own, smooth chocolate skin. Having a flat ass was WAY better in his mind than having a butt that looked like it belonged on an African savage swinging from the trees. His dick couldn’t get hard unless he saw the contrast in skin color.

Fantasies fueled by race ignited his desires. He found it erotic to think of himself as a slave on the plantation, taking the slave master’s wife. With that one single act of fucking her, he became the untamed Mandingo buck, getting his chance at the desirable white woman. He was the mack-daddy pimp, owning the white whore. Name a racist stereotype and it was sure to get his dick hard. He was proving to those white boys on the baseball field who were all grown up now that he was just as good as them because he could fuck any white woman he wanted. And when he finally got one knocked up, he was going to have kids that would never remind him that he was a descendent of cotton picking, illiterate slaves who were the victims of slavery, not sexually aroused by it. Color mattered to Darren because to him, his identity, his sexuality, his entire reality was tied to the fact that he believed with all his heart that white women were better. Moreover, he believed that being with a white woman made him better.

Jenny was getting her own jungle fever needs filled as well. Fucking black guys was dirtier than fucking white guys. Fucking black guys was beneath her, so that made it more thrilling. Most of her girlfriends knew the real deal but there were still a few holdouts that thought it was nasty to let a black guy touch them. It was her mission to convert them to nasty sluts for Black cock whenever she could so that they could enjoy the sensation of being a dirty, filthy nigger-loving whore. And as long as she said, “I’m not racist,” after the fact, it didn’t bother her at all that she never saw Black men as real human beings, just studs with oversized genitalia to service her insatiable appetite for extreme and perverse levels of degradation and abuse.

An intelligent person might want to contemplate what made this privileged, twenty-something white girl, who had never had a responsibility in her life, crave being used like a fucking rag doll by black men while spewing the most vile racist epithets . . . but who has time for such cerebral musings?

For all of his admiration and love for white women outside the bedroom, when it came time to fucking, he couldn’t degrade them enough. Jenny wasted no time in getting between his legs and giving him head. She grabbed his erection and started stroking it, making it leak precum. She licked the salty treat and told him how good he tasted. She took the head in her mouth and swirled her tongue around it and Darren could barely control himself. She went down on it slowly, licking and sucking with painstaking precision. She was getting every black inch wet with her mouth and tongue and sucking it expertly with her lips. Jenny was moaning and slobbering all over his dick like a cock-craved whore and fingering her pussy at the same time. Darren grabbed her semi-golden hair and twisted it in his hand and shoved her mouth down on his dick, making her choke and gag. He held her head down and she thought she was going to pass out. That made her pussy leak even more. He fucked her throat hard and deep, not caring at all about if she was experiencing pain, and she was. He gave her enough time to gasp for air and he began fucking her mouth harder slapping her face and calling her a stupid cunt.

Jenny wanted more. She wanted to taste his cum and she didn't care how Darren treated her. She was looking him in his eyes and asking him if he liked it. Darren was out of his mind; it was sensory overload. She focused on sucking the engorged vein on the underside of his dick and it allowed him to calm down enough to regain normal control of his breathing. The room was spinning and it felt like it was 100 degrees in there. She started humming on his dick, sending vibrations up his spine and talking dirty. She was proving herself to be a filthy nasty slut desperate for cum and abuse from any black man that would fuck her senseless.

“You like my mouth on your hard cock? Treat me like a filthy white whore; it makes me feel good when you say nasty things to me. Treat me like a dirty white slut. Use me. Use me with your superior black cock.”

He grabbed her head one last time and started moving it up and down on his dick, fucking her throat like she was a rag doll. Jenny gagged but it only seemed to inspire her to be that much nastier. It seemed she couldn’t get it wicked enough, she was in a zone where she wanted to be debased and used like a cheap prostitute. She was deep throating him and stroking him and licking his balls. The raunchier she got, the more she needed verbal stimulation.

“Come on you fucking white cunt, suck my fat dick. Show me what a slut you are for that fuck meat in your slutty mouth. Choke on my hard dick bitch. Look at you, you fucking filthy cocksucker. Suck my god damn cum out of my big hairy balls. Lick that fuck tool real good and get it nice and wet so I can ram it in your wet pussy. Yeah, I’m going to fuck you senseless. Is that what you want? You want me to ram this big hard black cock in you so hard you scream like it’s going to rip you apart? What sort of nasty whore gets off on sucking my dick like that? Maybe I will bring all my friends by and let them take turns using your body and they can pay me for the chance to ram their big black dicks in your nasty asshole, pussy and mouth,” he taunted her. “You'd like that wouldn't you? Sucking all those hard black cocks after they fuck you in the ass? You like that you dirty slut?"

Jenny wasn’t satisfied, she wanted more and she wasn’t afraid to go for it. She was in a sexual fog, a lust inspired by the fulfillment of her nasty dreams and she started screaming for him to use her, not caring if the upstairs, downstairs or next door neighbors heard her. “I want more. I want to show you how REALLY nasty white cunts are.” She got between his legs and lifted them up. He knew he hadn’t showered for more than 12 hours and his ass was ripe with sweat and musk. Jenny seemed to not notice or care one little bit. She seemed to delight in looking at the brown hole and Darren was pushing out, making it open and close for her. “Oooooh, talk really, really dirty to me, make me feel like a nasty whore.”

Darren didn’t hesitate for a second. “Oh yeah, eat my dirty asshole. Stick your tongue in there and lick it out good, Get it nice and clean like a good slut should. Taste that hole you and lick it good and deep.”

She didn’t waste a second and started licking and kissing and sucking his brown hole. There weren’t many things Darren loved more than a tongue in his ass and he was grinding his ass on her face and pulling his cheeks apart so she could get deep. Jenny looked up at him and stared straight in his eyes as she said, “Mmmm, I love the way your ass tastes. It makes my slutty white pussy so wet to know that I’m being such a dirty whore for you.” Then she went back to her feast, sucking Darren’s asshole like a woman possessed. The filthy nature of her words and actions, he thought, was the way sex was supposed to be: primal and raw, animalistic and dirty. She was in sexual nirvana. Darren held his legs wider as he enjoyed the sensation of his sexy white bitch making a feast of his ass.

Jenny loved every second of it and she wanted more. This was the treatment she craved, being treated like a depraved and perverted white whore and who better to do that than the sexy black god with a smooth brown body, rippling muscles, a juicy booty and a dick of death? Darren had to stop for a minute and wonder exactly what sort of limits this white bitch had if any and the idea of how filthy could get almost made him work a load up from his nuts.

There was no need for pretense because Jenny was a woman that needed to get fucked and fucked hard. She was desperate to feel every inch of that hard meet rammed in her cunt walls and she needed him to do it hard and fast and rough like only he could. He grabbed her hair and pulled it like reigns on a philly. She responded by chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, NOW!”

Darren took careful aim. He lined up the fat head of his dick with her slutty hole. He grabbed her hips and with one fluid, fast motion, he rammed the entire length of his dick deep in her uterus. She screamed out in pain but that didn’t stop her from begging for more. Darren began fucking Jenny with his force and she took it all and begged for more. He worked his thumb up her ass and she started using her muscles to coax out another load of cum. He started smacking that pale ass and reached around to her huge tits. He mauled her tits, pinching her nipples and causing her to moan. He squeezed her inflated chest so fucking hard she was surely going to have bruises the next day. He pulled them and twisted them with his dark fingers and she encouraged him to do it harder. “Pull my fucking nipples black mother fucker. Make them hurt. Slap them. Ohhh, it feels so good.”

Jenny was fucking him back extraordinarily hard, grunting and snorting like a crazed animal. “I need what every filthy white slut can’t get enough of. I need you to fuck me in my nasty asshole. Please? Fuck my white ass with your big, black cock.”

He pulled out of her pussy and saw her juices all over his erection. She had taken his finger with no problem so he spit on her asshole and started to work more fingers in. “Damn you Darren, ram it in there and make it hurt. I don’t want you to give a damn about me, use my asshole, rip it apart. Shoot your cum deep in my ass. Make me cum from dicking my shithole and then make me lick your dirty cock clean.”

“You fucking bitch, you asked for it. I don’t want you to complain one little bit that it hurts either. You better beg for more. I want you screaming and begging me to fuck the shit out of you, for me to never stop, you hear?”

“What are you waiting for? Slam it up my ass. Fuck this slutty white bitch in her backdoor. What’s the matter? Afraid my tight little ass will make you nut too fast? Yeah, it takes a real man to handle a hot, sexy hole like this, not a little boy.” Her teasing had one objective, to ensure that Darren fucked her until he fucked her unconscious.

The head of Darren’s dick didn’t even look like it could fit in such a small hole. He held his dick still as he pushed the tip in. Jenny gasped for air and gripped the sheets tightly, sweat was forming on her body and she was in agony and ecstasy. The sensation of Jenny’s tight ass ring on the shaft of his member was so intense, he was sweating trying to work all 8 inches in and he didn’t understand how she could even take it all so easily. Jenny took control and started fucking him back. “Fuck my naughty asshole, make me a bad girl. Make me crave getting used by big black cock in my asshole. Make sure I never want white cocks again.”

Darren grabbed her hips and started pounding. Jenny lowered her head and stuck her ass up in the air so the last few inches could get the right angle and sink deep in her ass. Darren could smell the earthy, strong aroma of ass fucking and it was intoxicating. Jenny was moaning loader, begging for it harder. Ass fucking was supposed to be dirty and primal and filthy in every way and Jenny and Darren were two untamed wild animals that were lost in debauchery and pleasure. Jenny had craved the sensation of losing herself to a man completely and she started to cum. It was a mental orgasm, a freedom from society and rules and inhibitions.

“Oh shit, I’m going to cum. Fuck the shit out of me. Shoot your cum deep in me. Empty your nuts in my slutty white asshole. Make me shit out your baby juice all night long.”

Darren grabbed her hips and started ramming himself deeper and harder, practically ramming Jenny’s head in the wall. “OHHHH FUCK! Take it whore, take my load.” He pulled out and shot his load in her mouth and Jenny sucked every drop of his sticky, sweet cum. He pushed her down on the bed and wiped his dick off on the sheets in the corner.

When all was said and done, it was just another typical Friday night for Darren. He would drop her off in the morning and they would exchange numbers like they were really going to keep in touch with each other. Next week, there would be another slutty white woman in his bed, whose name he might or might not remember, begging him to use her, fulfilling her dark-continent fantasies.


Copyright AfroerotiK 2008

Sucking your Dick

Your hands reach out to caress my face and I stop you. I grab your wrists and I pull them behind you. Obviously, your strength could overpower mine, so your restraint is symbolic to say the least. In fact, you voluntarily hold you hands behind your back as an indication of your submission to me. I place my hand at the base of your dick. I survey my prize. My lips gently kiss the tip and I hear an intake of breath. I take my finger and slide it back and forth over the moisture that has collected at the tip.

Sucking my finger for good measure, I look deep in your eyes. Starting at the base of your dick, I slowly lick you. Soft and gentle. I use my tongue to get your dick wet. I gently squeeze your dick to make sure you remember that I am in control. I lick every inch of steely resolve. I use my tongue to paint pleasure all the way up the shaft. I lick the head. “That’s OK baby, let it out,” I say. Your breathing gets louder.

I slide the head between my lips and suck you gently. I concentrate on licking and sucking the head for several minutes. I grab the base of your dick again and start drawing you in my mouth. I slide my lips all the way down. Back and forth, up and down, you are moaning now. I have made your dick so wet, that it glistens in the candlelight. My mouth envelops you. I use my lips to pleasure you, my tongue to torture. I slide your dick deep in my mouth and stop for a brief second.

You are completely consumed, until I slide my mouth even further down your dick and the head of your dick penetrates the back of my throat. “Oh shit,” you scream and I feel your knees buckle. I start fingering your balls and sucking you, blowing you, licking you. Harder and faster, I take you deeper, higher. I want more. You need it. I’m so hungry for your passion. I stop for just a second to ask you if you like it and all you can say is, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

The Making of a White Sissy Slut

When he replied to my ad online, Steven said he was an attractive, 30-something, successful white man who was willing to explore the wild side. When we met in person, I was more than a little bit disappointed. Attractive was a stretch of the imagination and I told him so right off the bat. He acted as if I’d said something to offend him and responded by saying, “Well, no one’s ever told me that I was unattractive.” When I suggested that was because no one had had the occasion to be brutally honest with him, he got visibly pissed off and blurted out, “Well, my mom thinks . . .” and caught himself before he said something that made him look like a total, pathetic loser.

Truth be told, Steven wasn’t gruesome; he was merely average. Average for a white boy unfortunately is just shy of ugly. Thin lips, pasty skin, thinning hair, non-descript features, he was nothing to write home about. I had plans to change that. The ad to which he replied was a proposition to completely transform a white boy into a sexy, desirable, cross-dressing, sissy, and insatiable, cum-crazed whore for black cock. I didn’t pull any punches and he knew what he was in for so there was no reason to play games. I didn’t have much to work with from the beginning but at least he wasn’t fat and out of shape. I’d had less to work with in the past so he wasn’t my greatest challenge.

I took him back to my loft and told him to strip. He’d lied in his response by saying that his cock was just a little over 6 inches. I made him stand in the center of the room, completely naked, and I sensually stroked his cock for less than a minute until he was whimpering and biting his lip, trying to keep from cumming. I took out my ruler and placed it at the base of his cock and told him to tell me EXACTLY how much his worthless, pathetic cock actually measured. He mumbled something incoherent.

“Listen you little worm. I said TELL ME HOW MUCH YOUR LITTLE CLITTY REALLY MEASURES.” His face became reddened and he looked angry and broken at the same time. I continued to stroke his cock and I could tell that he was on the verge of shooting his load. Tears were forming in his eyes.

“Five,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, choking back the tears.

It wasn’t even a full five inches but I’d accomplished my mission. He was humiliated. “You can’t expect to please a woman with that. That’s pathetic. You have no choice, you have to be transformed into a cross-dressing, sissy whore so you’ll never have to annoy women with your worthless attempt at fucking again. I’m going to make sure your pussy is your only source of sexual satisfaction. I’m going to turn you into a woman, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you move, the very way you think is going to be that of a woman. You will be a lady in the streets and a filthy, nasty, cum dump in the sheets. Your pussy will throb and get so horny you will actually think it’s getting wet and you will be desperate to get fucked by the biggest, blackest, hardest pricks you can find. He moaned out loud as his cum dribbled from his cock, barely enough to be considered a spurt, let alone a blast.

Over the next three months, I trained him. I caged his cock in a chastity device and he was denied the right to cum. I had his body waxed and he was as smooth as silk. Lessons consisted of teaching him how to walk like a woman, how to hold his hands, and how to cross his legs and be sophisticated in public. I also trained him in ways to drive a man crazy by spreading his legs wide and begging for hard dick in his slutty cunt in private.

He was a very good student. I could see the changes taking place before my very eyes. When he did well, I would reward him by strapping on a 10 inch black dildo and fucking him while he looked at pictures of gorgeous Black men with enormous cocks and he told me out loud how much he lived to worship them. For punishment, when he would do something wrong, or simply for my amusement, I would wrap my hands around his neck and choke him, telling him that I was going to make him suck off a white man if he didn’t learn to behave. Cutting off his air supply, I would tell him that white men were arrogant, repulsive, ignorant assholes and that if he didn’t do as I told him, I was going to make him put their nasty, pitiful small cocks in his mouth until they came and that he would never earn the right to suck off a Black man’s gorgeous, manly cock. Just as he was about to pass out, I would release my grip and he would cry like a baby hysterically on the floor, begging me never to make him do something so disgusting, confessing that he hated white men and never wanted to touch them or be touched by them.

At four months, he was passable enough that we could go out shopping together as girls, and he was already turning heads of men and didn’t even realize it. Even in his regular clothes, he was becoming feminine; he spoke with a gentle demeanor, and showed none of the signs of arrogance of when we first met. He was an expert at applying his makeup and the expensive wigs we purchased for him looked 100% real. He learned quickly to point out cheap and trashy cross dressers and their lame attempts to get off by shocking unsuspecting sales clerks in lingerie stores. We shopped in expensive boutiques and he had quite a collection of heels, stockings, lingerie, and dresses.

Orgasm denial was taking a toll on him because it was month five when he began to beg for release, to practice his newly learned deep-throating skills on a real cock. He endured the discomfort of saline injections to increase his bust size and he marveled at the way his new, full tits looked in his lacy bras, bustiers, and corsets. He especially loved when I would apply nipple clamps and twist and pull his nipples while calling him a filthy white whore. Previously a work-a-holic, wearing men’s clothing felt unnatural to him and now he would find excuses to work from home or leave work early so he could get home and put on his satin and silk and feel like his true self. He would beg me to let him eat my pussy, but I told him he wasn’t allowed because he could only have superior black cocks in his mouth. Steven the male was no longer; he was a distant memory. Stacy was born anew, a woman in every sense of the word.

I planned Stacy’s coming out party for exactly six months from the day we met. I had to admit, she was gorgeous. Even I didn’t think she was capable of such an extreme makeover. That average looking white boy I met so long ago was now a stunning, beautiful white woman whose smoky seductive eyes could captivate, whose collagen-enriched, full lips were inviting to the hardest of cocks, and whose hips swayed sensually when she gracefully walked in her expensive stilettos. There wasn’t a detail I left to chance. Her hands were perfectly manicured, not with garish fake claws but with an elegant clear polish. She wore a simple diamond band on the ring finger of her left hand, not as a symbol of our marriage, but as a symbol of her devotion to me for allowing her to become the cum hungry whore who dwelt inside her.

I’d invited four of the most hung Black men I knew to her party. They’d been to a couple of my events before and they knew the deal. They were to treat the slut as harsh and as rough as they could as long as she didn’t utter her safe word. I’d kept the party attendees a secret, Stacy didn’t know how many or who, she just knew that her asspussy was going to be truly satisfied for the first time in her life.

Stacy sat at her dressing table, applying the last little bit of her makeup, her hands shaking. She looked at me through the mirror and said softly, “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been freed from a prison of lies and masquerading. It makes me sick to think of what I used to be. I know that I’m supposed to be a white bitch for black cocks now, I know that I was born to be a sissy slut.”

Tears were forming in her eyes and I stopped her. “Stop with the waterworks sweetie, you’ll ruin your makeup. Just go out there and make me proud.” She stood up and I made her turn around for me. She was breathtaking. I applied pressure to her shoulder and she bent forward for me without me having to ask. I pulled up the hem of her skirt and bared her pussy. I’d inserted a large, black butt plug in her earlier in the day and I pulled it out as it made a lewd and nasty plopping sound as Stacy moaned and wiggled her ass at the empty feeling. Her cunt was tight and ready. I wiped the excess lube away and finally handed her the key to the chastity device.

“Here, you do it for me, please. I can’t . . . I’m . . . You were right all along. My clitty is worthless and I should be ashamed I ever tried to use it . . .” I freed her from her restraints, stroked it softly, and her clit engorged to its full length immediately, harder, thicker, and longer than it’d ever been. I turned her towards the full-length mirror and pulled her skirt up in front of her. We both giggled at the obscene image of this strikingly beautiful woman with an oversized clit staring back at us. She pulled on a pair of sexy French-cut, lace panties and tucked her clit away as she took a deep breath and emerged for her debut as a dirty, white, pain-pig, tramp.

The reactions of everyone were just as I’d hoped. The fellas almost couldn’t believe that Stacy wasn’t a real woman. They kept looking at her and whispering to each other. Dante pulled me to the side and asked me if I wasn’t trying to play some sort of game on them because there was no way that could really be a dude. Stacy was disappointed and deservingly so. She wanted more than four men to use and abuse her body. She’d learned to take two oversized dildos in her asscunt at the same time. She could swallow 12 inches of dildo without gagging and I’d teased her for months about the prospect of having no less than 10 men fuck her to unconsciousness. She was the most gracious hostess however, refilling drink glasses, making sure everyone had something to eat, laughing and mingling and making everyone feel comfortable like only a real woman could do.

She teased the men, just like I’d taught her to do, bending over and showing off her ass. Her tits were spilling out of her sexy top and she made sure to rub crotches whenever she could.

Everyone was waiting for my signal for the real party to begin. “Gentlemen, I want to thank you so much for coming here tonight. Stacy is my greatest accomplishment to date. Spank her, fist fuck her, make her suck your filthy cocks after you fuck her, degrade her in whatever extreme, base, perverted, disgusting way you can think of. ANYTHING you can think of, she’ll do it and I promise she’ll only beg for more. Without further ado, let the games begin.”

The guys started moving furniture around, making space in the living room for the serious play to begin. Stacy did a sexy and sensual striptease, more exotic and alluring than any professional could do. I saw a look of panic in her eyes when it came time to take off her panties. It was in that moment that he was ashamed of her cock. She wanted to have a real pussy, a real clit. I looked at her and nodded slightly and told her with my eyes that it was okay for her to be who she was. She sensed my reassurance and boldly stepped out of her panties and got on her knees and waited for whatever sweet torture could be inflicted upon her.

Dante and Rodney pulled out their dicks first and Stacy dove for them, feeling the smooth, taut skin of their hardening cocks fill her mouth, tasting their sweet precum. She jerked off one as she sucked the other and went back and forth, deep throating them and getting them wet with spit. Rodney grabbed her face and forced her mouth open and spit in it and shoved his dick balls deep in her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and fucked her face. Dante pulled her sexy nipples which only made her hum and moan on the cock in her mouth. Eric wanted in on the action and he pulled off all his clothes and said, “Let me have some of that.”

Always willing to share, the first two backed off and let the other two have at it. Eric turned around and said, “Come on bitch, nothing more that I like than a white woman’s tongue in my dirty asshole. Lick it clean.” I had no idea how dirty his asshole was in order for it to be licked clean but it was apparent that Stacy loved the smells and tastes of whatever his asscrack had to offer. She drove her tongue in deep and sucked his asshole. I could hear her say, “Mmmm, it tastes so good,” before her face was surrounded by Eric’s sex bubble butt and she went back to making a feast of his asshole.

Gerald was the last man standing and he wanted in on the action too. Come here bitch, I gotta piss and I want you to drink it all. Stacy whipped around and before she could confirm that she was ready, her mouth was full of cock. She had been trained well to hold completely still and wait for that piss and I could see her start to swallow repeatedly as Gerald moaned out, “Yeah, toilet whore, drink my rank, hot piss.” I could tell when he was finished because he started to fuck her throat savagely. “Yeah slut, take my black dick.”

Things went into overdrive from then on out. All four men had their hard cocks in her mouth in succession. Occasionally she would have two cocks in her mouth at the same time but that didn’t seem to faze her. While she was sucking one, she was stroking off two others. They were pinching her nipples, slapping her tits, taking turns shoving their hard cocks in her throat. Eric hadn’t planned on cumming in her mouth but she was sucking so hard, licking his balls and working the head of his dick with her throat that he couldn’t help himself. He blasted her mouth with his salty cum like a real man, pumping his hot jism in her mouth and adding his spit to the mix before she was made to swallow.

Stacy was in the zone. “Fuck me, somebody please fuck me.” She was pushed down to her knees and Rodney got in position first. He was still wet from the nasty blowjob and her pussy was leaking lube so he had no reason to go slow. He rammed his dick in her cunt balls deep. She let out a moan and lowered he head to the floor and kept her ass in the air so he could have full access to pound her tight pussy. He grabbed her hips and started pounding out a steady rhythm like an African drum. Each stroke, he would pull out to the head and ram every inch deep inside her. Gerald got in front of her and worked it out so that when he was balls deep in her mouth, Rodney was pulling out of her tight twat.

Dante was amused. “Man, white boys are fucked up. Look at this fucking faggot take all that dick and not miss a beat.”

Stacy looked up. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m a fucking faggot whiteboy that lives to be used by black men. Breed my sissy cunt, use me, degrade me for being a perverted white bitch, treat me like a piece of shit. Take out all your aggression and frustration on my pussy. Just fuck me. FUUUCK ME.”

And that’s exactly what they did. One by one, they fucked her like an animal without care for her pleasure or pain. Every time a cock was pulled from her freshly fucked shithole she sucked it clean. There wasn’t an occasion in over two hours that she didn’t have a cock in her mouth and her pussy at the same time. The guys held off on cumming until they couldn’t take it anymore. She worked her pussy and they gave her what she wanted. Her ass was red and sore from being spanked, her tits were bruised from being grabbed and squeezed. Her nuts were aching and in pain, desperate for release. The pain inspired her for more. The more they used her, the more ravenous she became. Gerald unloaded his nuts her mouth while Dante pumped a load deep in her colon. He grabbed a plate of Hors D'Oeuvres, dumped them on the floor, and made her squat over the plate and shit out his cum. Stacy pushed out his cum and took it a step further and licked his cum from the plate like a sexy kitten licking milk.

Eric had the most stamina because he’d already cum once so he lay on the floor and demanded that she ride his jet, black dick. She stood shakily on her high heels, her legs weakened by the savage fucking she’d endured for several hours. Still a lady in every sense of the word, and still beautiful even with her makeup smeared and her hair sweaty, she thought only of her lover’s pleasure first and turned away from him, facing his feet so that he wouldn’t have to be disgusted by looking at her obscene, aroused pink clitty. I intervened. I leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear. “You aren’t really a woman, you are a pathetic white boy who needed the pretense of being a woman to realize your nasty true nature. Don’t be afraid to show off your worthless cock now. You are a filthy, faggot, cocksucking cum-whore who now knows that you are only fit to please Black men. I destroyed you and recreated you to be what I wanted, a white sissy bitch. Own who you are, just like I own you.” Somehow, she understood that they were words of empowerment and she turned to face Gerald and lowered her asspussy on his erection.

She remembered everything I taught her. She worked her pussy and rode that hard shaft, squeezing it, milking it, and pumping her hips like an insatiable slut. Eric tried to fuck her so hard he tried to throw her off. She rode his cock like a cowboy rides a bucking bronco. The room reeked of sweaty man sex. She kept chanting, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,“ over and over again.

I could tell that Eric was close and I grabbed Stacy’s cock and stroked it no more than three times and she erupted, shooting hot cum in the air. It landed on Eric’s washboard abs and he was furious. “Bitch, look what you did! Lick that shit off of me you goddamn homo.” For the first time in the evening, Stacy was given a task she couldn’t do. She’d been reprogrammed to detest the cum of white men. In her head, she wasn’t a white man anymore; she’d truly become a sissy slut, a feminized bitch. There was something else however that made her repulsed by the thought of having to lick the cum of what she hated most, a white man. It was in that moment that she started to cry like a bitch, sobbing uncontrollably at the request that made her come face to face with her own self-hatred.

“Fuck me some more,” she demanded, “give me some more cum.” She got on her knees and pulled open her abused asscheeks to reveal her swollen and red rosebud. “Come on, fuck me. Pump your hot cum in me, Fuck me. I need more cum. I need more cocks. I had the guys get dressed and leave while I attended to Stacy, trying to calm her down until she fell asleep on the floor, fucked and exhausted.

It’s been a week since the party. Stacy has been calling me around the clock. I’ve had no choice but to ignore her calls because I’m on to my next project and this time, at least he’s reasonably attractive.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK