Interracial Domination Duo

WHAP!  He slapped his face hard and the sting brought Michael to a new level of sobriety.  He looked around the sparse room and noticed it was a basement, bathed only by the soft, fluorescent glow from the street lamps streaming in the small, street level windows.  Even though he was scared, and rightfully so, there was also something erotic for Michael about being held against his will, punished for his wrongdoings, tormented by this odd, Black couple like a naughty schoolboy.  

For more intense interracial erotica, check out Minority Affairs.  

Pretend

We aren’t in love.  Hell, we hardly even know each other.  Our connection could best be described as fleeting and fragile.  But tonight, I really need you to pretend.  I need you to pretend that you love me.  I need you to pretend that you can’t breathe without me.  Pretend that you don’t mind me crying on your shoulder and my tears falling gently on your chest, that the weight of my leg across your thigh isn’t a bother.  Make believe that you love running your hand along the curve from my waist to my ass, caressing my mocha-colored skin with the tenderness of a long time lover.  Tonight, can you act as if my kiss resuscitate you, inspires you, enchants you?    In my imagination, you NEED to be inside me, to connect with me as only lovers can do.   In my mind’s very creative eye, I very clearly see myself straddling your body, gently guiding your hardness to my core, and looking deep in your eyes as I slide my tight, hot, incredibly and intensely wet pussy down the shaft of your dick.  Can you feel it?  Pretend that you want, no neeeeeeed to make love to me, to give me your heart and soul while I ride you, looking deep in your eyes, communicating things to you that two virtual strangers should never say.  Do you think it’s possible for you to pretend that when we cum, reaching the pinnacle of pleasure in unison, that could you tell me that I mean more to you than you could have ever predicted?  I know it’s only pretend but it would mean the world to me. 

Scottie Lowe

Minority Affairs

Minority Affairs

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You Might be a Racist if . . .

If you have an outfit made from 180 count percale white cotton sheets . . . you might be a racist.  If you’ve ever attended an event where a cross was burned and people chanted, “Death to all niggers,” . . . you might be a racist.  Right.  Everyone gets that; that’s the ugly face of racism everyone loves to hate.  In reality, racism is far more subtle and FAR more pervasive than that.  Racism is a sickness so deep, so omnipresent, and so completely enmeshed in the very fabric of American consciousness, it’s dismissed, ignored, and negated because anyone other than a devout, card-carrying, unapologetic Aryan Nation/Nazi/Skinhead/Ku Klux Klan Grand Dragon is given the benefit of the doubt that they aren’t racist. 

People of color have been so oppressed, Black people in particular are so downtrodden by the burden of racism, so conditioned to swallow and choke on the incessant, daily racism that conditions our thinking from birth, that we don’t know how to speak out against racism other than to say, “Post racial my ass,” when we encounter something that is an insult to our vey being. That’s the extent of our outrage; that’s all we’ve allowed ourselves to do.  We are afraid to challenge racists, to get in their faces and silence them.  We lament and whine about racism amongst ourselves but we have been so conditioned to swallow our anger that we don’t know how to confront racism when we encounter it.  Black people have been raised to never, ever, ever, ever challenge white people’s belief systems lest we suffer the wrath of lily-white, blond-haired, blue-eyed God Almighty himself.  Racism has metastasized and grown unchecked for centuries and the perpetrators feel entitled to say and do whatever they want, with impunity; the system remains in place and people of color are not the beneficiaries. 

I’m the nigger that white people hate.  I’m the nigger that will not stay silent in the face of racism.

“I’m not racist.”  That phrase flows off the tongues of white people as easily as they say, “God Bless America.”  They are conditioned to say it.  Every white person knows deep down that racists are supposed to be bad, evil people so they deny any hint that they might actually harbor any racist sentiments with their knee-jerk response of, “I wasn’t raised racist,” and they are absolved all guilt, or so they believe. But because there has never been a healthy conversation about race in this country, because racism is bred into white people’s subconscious minds, they have no clue what it encompasses or even how to recognize their own racism.  Whites still control the conversations about race.  That’s the equivalent of child molesters dictating the conversation and setting the rules about what constitutes healthy sexuality. 

Let me break it down for you. 

·         If you watch Fox News because you think it’s the only news outlet that tells the truth . . . you might be a racist.

·         If you make a habit of going on African-American oriented websites to tell Blacks how racist they are . . . you might be a racist.

·         If you are tormented and tortured by the kidnapping of little blond white girls in the news but have never once given consideration or empathy to the plight of Black children . . . you might be a racist. 

·         If you vehemently oppose Affirmative Action because you think that “reverse racism” is keeping whites from their fair share of the pie . . . you might be a racist.

·         If you have made it your life’s mission to defend the honor of George Zimmerman because you believe that Black, unarmed teenagers are a threat to the safety of America . . . you are a racist.

·         If you think Herman Cain and Clarence Thomas should be role models for all Blacks because you think the only Blacks who have valid opinions are the ones that tow the conservative party line . . . there’s no might about it.

·         If you obsessively watch interracial porn because you think it’s especially hot to see white women having sex with Black men because that makes them especially nasty . . . that’s pretty racist. 

·         If you’ve ever said, “Let it go, slavery was in the past,” or “My ancestors didn’t own any slaves,” or “Jews suffered the Holocaust and they’ve managed to overcome that,” . . . you’re clueless and racist.

·         If you are convinced that Obama was born in Kenya and there was a conspiracy to have his birth announcement placed in a Hawaiian newspaper so that he could one day become President and take away the rights of whites, not only are you a racist, you’re fucking crazy. 

·         If you have ever argued that whites have a right to use the N word because Black people use it . . . let’s not pull any punches, you’re racist. 

·         If the only Black men you respect have the initials MJ (or, realistically, fill in the blank with any Black entertainer, celebrity, or sports figure) . . . I hate to break it to you . . . but you’re infected with the racism bug.

·         If you have ever lamented that you want things to go back to the good old days, you know, when white men had all the power . . . you are very, very racist. 

·         If you have ever accused a Black person of “playing the race card” for simply discussing racism, and then had the audacity to tell them what constitutes racism . . . yeah, you’re racist.

·         If you’re still pissed at OJ . . . let’s call a proverbial spade a spade why don’t we.

·         If you think slavery was a blessing for Blacks to save them from heathen Africa . . . come on now!  Seriously?

·         If you feel like you have to insinuate the phrase, “Color doesn’t matter,” or, “Can’t we all just get along,” into any conversation about race to prove that you aren’t racist . . . oh, wait, that’s hitting a little too close to home.  All white people say that . . . you know you aren’t racist but I hate to break it to you . . .

·         If you’ve ever come to the defense of a white person and said, “No, no, no, they aren’t racist because I know them personally and they’re a nice person,”  . . . that’s an example of everyday racism that you’ve never thought about before that you are guilty of. 

·         If you get anxious and defensive every time a POC talks about being proud of their identity . . . I hate to break it to you but you need to look at yourself in the mirror in a new light.

·         If the only quote you know from Dr. Martin Luther King is, “I have a dream,” and you have used it in a conversation to prove to a Black person you aren’t racist . . . it’s not looking too good for you. 

·         If you insist you aren’t racist because you have dated, are attracted to, or have sex with Black people because you think your sexual attraction negates the millions of messages you’ve been given that place whites above all others . . . you don’t really understand what racism is.

·         If you tell racist jokes and then get offended if someone calls you on it . . . what are the chances you aren’t racist?

·         If you have ever rationalized that there needs to be a White History Month or White Entertainment Television because whites deserve equality . . . you know good and god damn well that you are racist.

·         If you can quote every line of the movie Friday or can rap every word in every Kanye West song because you consider yourself to be so multi-cultural but you’ve never once explored any Black scholars or authors who are actually about lifting Black people up . . . you’d do well to take a look at your own white privilege. 

·         If you think light skinned Blacks are more civilized . . . you’ve been socialized to be racist.

·         If you think you’re giving a Black person a compliment when you say, “You’re not like other Black people, you’re so articulate,” . . .  what do you think you’re really saying?  You’re saying that Black people are inherently stupid. 

·         If you have one Black friend you call “your nigga” who is your go-to person to reinforce to you that you aren’t racist . . . are you getting the picture yet?

·         If you believe that Blacks are genetically predisposed to violence, ignorance, and poverty . . . the sad fact of the matter is, you are a racist, plain and simple. 

·         If you’ve witnessed any one of these acts and not spoken up, if you’ve not been outraged or offended, I would suggest you run, don’t walk to YouTube and watch every Tim Wise video you can find because, sadly, you might be racist.

I could go on and on sadly.   There are so many instances of racism; I’ve only touched on a few.  Racism is so deeply entrenched into this society that I haven’t even mentioned the racism that persists around people of other races and religions.  I could write pages and pages about white people’s racism towards Latinos and Muslims and Asians and anyone different than themselves.  (I wouldn’t dare speak for anyone else because that would be racist to assume that I understand their angst better than they do)  Do you want to know what’s NOT racist, however?  People of color exposing, talking about, and being offended by the racist practices of white people does not constitute racism.  The inmates can no longer run the asylum.  If we are ever going to heal from this epidemic that is killing us all, white people have to let go of this concept that they know more about racism than anyone else and they have a right to tell people of color what’s offensive and what isn’t. 

Copyright 2013 Scottie Lowe All Rights Reserved

Scottie Lowe is the owner of a website called AfroerotiK.  She has made it her mission to show people of African descent in a positive, healthy erotic light.  She is also the author of Minority Affairs, a book that tackles interracial erotica from a decidedly different perspective. 

The Other Half of the Amulet

It was the sound of his voice that triggered the knowing.  In that split second, when I heard the acoustic waves created only by his vocal cords, I knew I had found my perfect submissive.  He is the other half of the amulet, the yin to my yang, the missing piece that fits my kinky puzzle perfectly.  Intelligent, articulate, completely depraved and perverted; he fits me.  He is my equal and my opposite in every way.  For all of my excellence and superiority he is excellently and equally inferior.  He craves filth in a way that is far more extreme than most people could wrap their heads around and I can deliver what he craves and then some.  He recognized my inherent dominance from our first communication and I could see his sub-human true nature instantly. 

He’d been molested as a child.  His father’s best friend had his hands in his pants before he was in little league.  The abuse lasted until he was well into his teens and it grew more and more extreme, more twisted and perverted as the years progressed.  By the time the man was promoted and moved away, my bitch had been emotionally and psychologically warped beyond repair and sexually used by more men than he could count.  Now in his 40s, he’s become successful in his career and maintains the image of normalcy but it is just an image, a fake persona he wears.  He is obsessed with sex.  It consumes him.  All day, every day, he thinks of nothing more than how to get his next nut, of how he can make it more extreme.  His needs for stimulation have graduated far beyond anything remotely close to vanilla.  He’s spent thousands of dollars over the years on toys and gear and hookers and memberships to websites.  In every meeting, at every conference, he schemes and plots about how to be nastier, more sinister.  At every company luncheon, he looks at his co-wokers and knows that they would be horrified if they knew he could fit a dildo the size of a grown man’s forearm in his slutty boicunt . . . and that he craves bigger, thicker, longer ones fucking him senseless. 

Because of the abuse, he has trust issues.  His father knew of the exploitation and turned a blind eye to it.  They had a network of deviants that shared each other’s kids.  His father liked little girls so he would allow his son to have sleepovers and camping trips with his friends while he got to play house with his friend’s daughters.  Because of that, my little bitch doesn’t know what real affection and innocence feel like; he doesn’t know what it means to be a child who is protected and loved.  I exploit that.  I make him call me Mommy and make him feel like shit because of it.  I toy with his emotions, degrade and humiliate him, taunt and tease him and remind him of how inherently fucked up he is, how he will never be normal, never have a normal relationship with anyone.  I threaten to withhold my attention from him for my arousal; I terrorize him by intimating that I will throw him away like a piece of trash.  It hurts him.  I can see it in his eyes.  But it arouses him.  The more I tell him the truth, the more it makes him insane with lust and hunger.  The more I toy with his emotions, the more it gets my pussy incredibly wet. 

I own his very soul.  I can tell him to do anything and he will still need more.  If I tell him to suck my dog’s cock, he will ram his tongue in his asshole.  My absolute favorite thing to do to him is to have him on his knees, with my lover fucking him savagely with his huge black cock, with his face in my hands, whispering in his ear, telling him that he is my white bitch boi.  I punish him with threats that I will make him suck disgusting, old, white cock, like his abuser’s and he curls up like a ball and cries like a baby at the thought.  He knows that his whiteness is an illusion.  He knows that he isn’t more intelligent, that the arrogance and all his accomplishments were ill gotten gains. The truth, and he knows it, is that he has only achieved his success because white men have manipulated, lied, cheated, oppressed, cajoled, and stolen whatever advantages they have gotten.  He knows, every time he has a black cock deep in his throat, that white men are the sick and twisted ones because I remind him that white men are the ones who created him to be what he is. 

Every time he reads the racist rants of white men online, virtually screaming about how Blacks are inherently inferior, he knows that they are fighting their own demons, trying to deny what they know to be true in their hearts as well, that Blacks have more integrity, more ingenuity, more common sense, and a stronger will to survive than any white person could ever hope to have.  With me, he can let down that defense.  With me, he can be the pig he knows is his bloodline, his birthright.  He comes from a long line a pigs and he is proud of it with me.  He sees my grace, dignity, and my morality in my beautiful brown skin, in my deep, intoxicating eyes.  He sees that I can control him with just a glance, a word softly murmured when he is on the verge of orgasm.  I have the ability to break him down in a way no other person has ever done.  He tries to build relationships with women, to pretend to be “that guy” the bachelor who Barbie wants, but his DNA is damaged and we both know it. 

He has cried in my arms when I speak of the real horrors of slavery, of what heinous and evil things white men have done for generations.  He has sobbed like a baby when I described the generations of racist privilege he had inherited to the detriment of my beautiful, strong, resilient, and inherently SUPERIOR ancestors.  He knows that his father’s perversions weren’t isolated, that his father’s friends weren’t unique or exclusive.  With me, he understands that the depravity in his blood has been there for generations and that Africans who were enslaved could never have been as twisted and damaged as his ancestors had been.  His mother loves to be abused.  His sister is a slut of extreme proportions.  His father is a monster.  And with me, my bitch is completely free to be the slug that he was born to be and give up his false sense of white superiority. 

Copyright 2013 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved