There is this presumption that exists between most married couples in America.  “Oh, my husband/wife would never understand my interest in ___________,” and the blank is filled in with some sort of sexual behavior that is supposedly too extreme, arguably too outside the very conservative, frigid boundaries of their spouse for him or her even to wrap their minds around it, let alone accept it.  People hide their most authentic selves from the person they are supposed to be most connected to, most intimate with, the one person on the planet who they are supposed to feel close enough to share any secret and still feel loved.  That sort of honesty only happens in self-help relationship books and AfroerotiK erotic stories.  In the real world, people compartmentalize their sexuality, sharing their secrets and fantasies with virtual strangers on computer screens late at night and not only believing that their spouse would never understand their desires but that they are also incapable of being aroused by anything beyond missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out.

Katie Largo was just such a woman.  She was a world-class slut of epic proportions and the type of white woman you would look at and say to yourself, “There’s no way in hell she even thinks about sex let alone enjoys it,” but you would lose all your money if you placed a wager on such a premise.  The homely, average, PTA president, and married mother of two was not only sexual, she was a connoisseur of the most filthy, nasty, perverse, depraved forms of sex possible.  There weren’t three people on the planet Earth who would look at her and call her attractive but that’s ultimately what drove her to be such nasty whore.  Standing 5’5” with mousy brown hair that was sort of limp and lifeless, Mrs. Largo hadn’t aged well.  Her misspent youth tanning left her skin leathery and spotted.  Childbirth left her with stretch marks and God’s unfair distribution of genetics left her quintessentially PLAIN.  Katie was a “real” desperate” housewife and she didn’t look anything like the women on the televisions shows.

Katie wanted and needed to feel desirable.  She had an intense, deep-seeded need to feel sexy and that led her to late-night cam sessions and clandestined meetings with strangers in dark alleys and random lover’s cars to fulfill her need to feel wanted.  It was her compulsion.  She wallowed in immoral reverie night and day, always looking for another opportunity to feel her pussy get wet and her clit get hard at the illicit suggestion of one of her random fuck buddies.  She was, and is, so very typical of white women all across the country, in every town, in every city who feign indignation, shock, horror, and conservative outrage at anyone who gets caught cheating while she is committing the very same sin herself.  And because race is still such a taboo subject, and because Black sexuality is so deeply entrenched in white America’s secret lusts, it was not hard for her to rationalize that her husband would NEVER in ten million years understand her desire to be an insatiable, cocksucking slut for a very well-hung Black man.  That filled in her blank.

Max Moore understood Katie’s obsession with big black cock all too well because he had been her supplier.  They met on craigslist simply enough.  He responded to her ad seeking an illicit and intellectual liaison.  For the better part of a year, more off than on, he would amuse himself by giving her with all the ebony cock she could handle, sometimes more than she could handle, and by degrading and using her in any way his imagination could conjure.  Max was the exact opposite of Katie.  Charming, engaging, articulate, any and every person who gazed upon his countenance, both men and women, would be astonished at his beauty.  He was an attorney and at 6’ even he still had time to work out and obtain a body sculpted from hours of hard work in the gym, he was the personification of Ebony perfection.  His skin was the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate and looked like the smoothest of satin covering rippling, bulging muscles.  His facial features were smooth, distinct, refined.  His thick, wavy hair was well-maintained and short with a precise hairline sculpted by only the most skilled barber.  He had an infectious smile that radiated charm.  His pecs filled out all his shirts and his hardened nipples seemed to protrude like little pencil erasers.  His stomach was a washboard of abs and his ass sat high and tight on his back, full, round, and two globes of brown perfection.  His balls were hairy and full and hung heavy and low.

It was his dick, however, that would have Katie ready to meet him at a moment’s notice to do anything and everything he told her.  Even flaccid, Max’s cock was still bigger than her husband John’s pathetic four-incher could ever manage to get.   When it was in its most glorious engorged and swollen state, Max’s cock was too big for Katie to handle.  It hurt her when he was pounding her relentlessly causing her to hold back tears while she was somehow simultaneously on the verge of orgasm.  She would be sore for days but that only served as a constant reminder of her illicit exploits and that would keep her aroused.  There were even a couple of times she had to pretend to have gotten a sore throat from a cold because Max had throat fucked her so hard, shoving his black cock so deep in her esophagus, that she lost her voice.

Katie was nothing more than a fuck toy to Max, a thing to be used.  She wasn’t by any means a dumb woman she was just socially inept.  He listened half-heartedly to her incessant bitching about her mediocre life and her melodramatic complaints about her job, her sister, her husband, and her parents.  She complained about her in-laws, her kids, she even whined about her dog.  It never ended.  Every time she opened her mouth it was an endless string of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  It seemed she always had something stupid to complain about and she convinced herself that Max cared enough about her to really give a shit.  She was deluded.  Max saw her as a nasty, married white slut and she was entertainment, something to do to see how far he could push her.  Katie knew that under any other circumstances, she could never get a man like Max to pay attention to her; she knew that it was her sexuality that kept him coming back for more so she did her best to be the nastiest, sluttiest, dirtiest of all the women he played with.  If he gagged her, she begged to be spit on.  If he slapped her, she demanded that he choke her.  She would gaze up at him with pride when he pulled his stiffened rod from her asshole and she would suck it clean.

Once, Max had Katie meet him at a bar downtown.  He told her to wear something slutty.  She ransacked her teenage daughter’s closet and got a tank top and a short skirt and wore a pair of conservative high heels she bought to go to an awards ceremony for her husband.  Sexy, she was not . . . not so much.  She looked a hot, damn mess: old, desperate, and trashy.  She showed up to meet Max and met him and three friends as well. She didn’t get all their names nor did she really didn’t care about them either; she was overjoyed at the prospect of Max showing her off like a trophy.  She sat down and they ordered her drinks and she felt like the bell of the ball.  Her pussy was soaking her sensible, cotton, white underwear through and through and the nipples of her tits poked through the cheap knit material of her top.

Max and his friends plied Katie with alcohol and groped her openly.  They pulled off her panties and put them on the table for all to see; they made her spread her legs and they roughly fingered her cunt, daring her to cum in public.  Pulling out his dick, one of Max’s buddies forced her down on it under the table; the rest of the pack started making loud hoopin’ and hollerin’ noises loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons in the seedy establishment.  Katie’s brain registered it all as an affirmation of her attractiveness.  All the attention she was getting from the men, essentially all strangers, was a stroke to her ego.

“Come on, bitch, I have to go take a piss,” and he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off in the direction of the men’s room like a child about to be spanked.  The bathroom in this establishment looked about the same as the rest of the place, a little outdated, a bit dirty, a lot dark, and totally inappropriate for a married mother of two to be hanging out in.  The bathroom itself had one stall, two urinals, and a double vanity sink with dark maroon-colored textured wallpaper and art deco light fixtures.  There was a barely detectable sheen of stale, semi-dry piss on the floor but that didn’t concern Max as he pushed Katie to her knees and told her to pull out his cock and start sucking.  For a split second, she glanced at the door, fully aware that it was unlocked and anyone could walk in, and had a chill of terror and arousal go up her spine.  Katie lived for and loved attention and the fact that someone was willing to put her in such a scandalous position made her temperature rise.

When it came down to sucking cock, no one could ever argue about Katie’s skills.  That’s because she had none.  Her technique wasn’t particularly unique or sensual, her tongue not very talented, she did a mediocre suck job.  When Max got tired of her lame attempts, he would usually grab her head and skull-fuck her to completion, leaving her face dripping with his semen.  That night, just as he was about to brutally throat fuck her, the door flew open and Max’s friends crowded, into the small bathroom.

“Oh shit, what do we have here?  What sort of nasty bitch sucks dicks in a men’s room on the floor?  Max, where do you find these bitches?”  They all laughed and took turns watching the door as everyone lined up and pumped her mouth full of hard pricks and cum.  They all walked out, leaving her kneeling and covered and cum, temporarily ashamed at her own disgraceful behavior but alternately proud of her ability to be such an extreme slut.

The time in between her meetings with Max was torture for Katie.  She would be obligated to have a lame romp with her husband once every couple of weeks.  He had no technique, no stamina, he never made her feel sexy; he never gave her that dangerous thrill she got from cheating.  Katie considered Max her real lover and she convinced herself that they had a deeper connection than they really did.  Max would tell her how she made his cock hard, how turned on he got thinking about her meeting him in the parking lot of her church to fuck or having a seedy rendezvous at a cheap motel and screwing the sheets off the bed and Katie would interpret that to mean that he wanted her.  She would calculate how and when they could meet again as soon as possible.  She might have fooled herself into thinking that they had some deeper connection but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that there weren’t other women vying for Max’s attention.  She made sure to send sexy pictures of herself, to write erotic stories, and send explicit text messages when she could to make sure that he knew that she was available and waiting for his instructions.  She loved his kinky mind and his ability to make her feel beautiful and dirty simultaneously.

Katie had a Pavlovian response to getting an email from Max.  Before she could even get the email open, she was hot and bothered, her body showing signs of arousal.  She waited until she was alone, away from the kids and her hubby so she could rub her twat and type out a response.  She awoke early one Monday morning to an email waiting for her from Max with the subject line: Keeping you updated.  She had to read it several times before it all sunk in.  It essentially said that he had been dating someone for almost a month, that things were getting serious, and he didn’t have a need for her anymore, that he was focusing completely on his new lady love.  She responded by saying, “Oh, that’s really nice.  I’m happy for you.  Good luck.” The fact that she didn’t mean it was irrelevant.  What she really meant was, “What about me?  What about my needs?  What about what we shared?”

By the end of the week, Katie was obsessed with worming her way back into Max’s life.  She wanted him to cheat on his lover with her, to want her so much that he turned his back on his girlfriend for the adrenaline rush of fucking her in a nasty bathroom.  She was sure that his new girlfriend couldn’t do that for him.  She knew that whoever this woman was, she wasn’t the sort of woman that could arouse him the way she did.  In her twisted and sexually immature mind, she reasoned that her vulgarity was some sort of gift to Max and that he treasured it.  She sent him an email saying, “Hey, you’ve been on my mind.  I would love to remain friends.  It seems a shame to throw away our chemistry and our connection. Maybe we can just email each other every once in a while, you know, keep in touch.”

His response was short and very blunt. “Katie, what you and I had was not a connection, it was my experimentation in domination.  I get frustrated occasionally with all the racism and bigotry that surround me as a Black man in corporate America, all the oppression that white people bend over backwards to deny exists, and I just wanted to take out my frustration on you.  It was wrong, it was unhealthy, and it’s over.  I’m with a really amazing sistah right now and she’s and attorney as well.  We have a lot in common. She’s all I need to get by. I don’t want to jeopardize what I have with her for a meaningless fuck with you.  I hope you understand.  Take care and best of luck to you.”

For any sane, reasonable person, that would have been sufficient.  But Katie wasn’t the most mentally stable person in the world.  Sure, she could hold down a good job and raise her children and clip coupons and keep her family organized but her concepts of sex and sexuality were warped.  Any attention she got from men was like a drug to her.  She needed the rush of feeling sexy, even if she was while being slapped around and being called a filthy whore in the process.

Three full days hadn’t passed completely before she decided to send Max a video they had made together of her licking his ass.  She thought it was particularly erotic because she looked particularly hungry for it and it was so symbolic, to her at least, of her willingness to debase herself for his gratification.  She thought if she could just remind him of all the good times they shared, she could win his attention again.  She needed it.

The response came quickly.  Katie could barely contain herself in the seconds it took for the email to open.  “Katie, this is Trenae, Maxwell’s girlfriend.  Do me a favor, don’t write him, call him, don’t text him; don’t send him videos of you doing nasty stuff.  Don’t send him any gifts and don’t post on his Facebook page.  Don’t communicate with him anymore.  PERIOD.  Please don’t disrespect me again by communicating with my man.  I hope I don’t have to tell you again because there will be repercussions if you do.”

Katie froze.  Her adultery had always been compartmentalized, just between her and her lovers.  No one else ever knew about it.  She never confided in a friend or a counselor, even her sister.  She never left telltale clues for anyone to find she was that good.  She was cautious and secretive and regimented in her ability to make sure that her cheating ways were part of her secret identity.  Here, staring her in the face on her computer screen, was another person invading her private realm.  Someone else knew about her.  She wondered what Max had told this person, what details had he shared with her; what did this woman know about her life and could she pose a threat to her marriage?

Katie felt like her world was spinning out of control; she felt like she couldn’t breathe.  Even when she would come home late at night, her breath stinking of another man’s cum, her holes used and abused, stretched out and raw, even if John awoke from sleeping to ask her where she’d been, she could make up a story about her book club or work or some lame excuse about being at her sister’s and he would NEVER suspect that she was cheating.  She’d never revealed her sexual desires to her husband so there was no way he would even comprehend that she needed anything more than a two minute hump every two weeks.  She relished those moments when she could push her luck, test fate as it were and almost get caught.  That was her way of feeling the excitement she was missing in her humdrum life.  She would intentionally put her cum-stained panties on the top of the pile of laundry just to test fate and see if her husband would notice the funk of another man’s sperm that had been in her pussy.  She did whatever she could do in order not to face the fact that she was an average looking woman with a mediocre life and absolutely no chance of making an impact on the world.

It was in that moment however, reading the words of that email over and over again, that she felt an adrenaline rush like never before.  THAT was what cheating was all about!  All the lying and the sneaking wasn’t exciting if you were so good at it that there was never any chance of getting caught.  The hairs on her arms were standing up and heart was racing.  Her heart told her to be afraid, to delete Max’s email address and number and move on with her life but THIS was the excitement that had been missing from her life.  Her twisted little mind told her that she was going to figure out a way to get Max to continue their affair.  Her mind couldn’t even process all she was feeling.  All she knew was that she felt thrilling sensations and that was something that was tragically missing from her life.

Katie calculated her moves strategically.  After several weeks, she decided on a course of action and she sent Max a text about 15 minutes after she thought he would be getting off work, assuming that would be a time when his girlfriend wasn’t with him.  She texted him saying that they needed to talk and asked when and where they could meet up.  It was several hours before she got a response.  It simply said, “OK, meet me on Friday night, 10pm, at the church parking lot where I fucked you before.”

Thrilled wasn’t even the word to describe how elated Katie was in that moment.  She went to the mall to buy a real dress, something sexy just for the occasion.  She attempted to go to Nordstrom’s but didn’t even make it in the front doors.  She walked around Macy’s for the better part of an hour bewildered and confused, not sure what to try on.  Money wasn’t even the issue; she had more than enough to buy something outrageously expensive.  What she didn’t have was taste.  She could pick out clothing for work and church with no problems.  Trying to find something to wear to entice Max was an exercise in futility because, when all was said and done, she simply wasn’t sexy.  If clothes make the man, or woman in this case, then Katie might as well have worn the emperor’s clothing because anything and everything she touched looked like she was a bridesmaid at someone’s third wedding.  She ended up at Express, picking out a pair of shiny, indigo-blue, low-rise pants that showed off her muffin top and stretch marks and a rhinestone covered tunic top that covered all her imperfections and had a built in cup to hold up her tits.  She bought a pair of clunky stripper heels to complete the look.  She tried the entire ensemble on when she got home and felt really sexy.  She pranced in front of the mirror, trying to mimic moves other sexy women had in an effort to seduce Max one final time.  Except, if she had it her way, it wasn’t going to be the last time.  He was going to be so mesmerized by her vulgarity, her blatant sexuality that he was going to need her to fulfill the base and primal desires surely his girlfriend wouldn’t.

She didn’t have to make up an excuse to tell her husband where she was going, he was out of town on business.  Her daughter was having a sleepover with her friends and her son was home trying to sneak peeks at his sister’s friends and playing video games.  She told them that she was going to a movie and told them to behave and text her if they needed her.  She changed her clothes in the bathroom of a nearby McDonald’s and put on some pink lip gloss, a little too much mascara, the wrong color powder that made her look slightly older, and she brushed her hair and tossed it a few times to give it some body.

She pulled into the parking lot of Zion Lutheran about 15 minutes early.  Sitting in her car and waiting for Max to show up, Katie reflected on the last time they met in this parking lot.  It was a cold winter evening, unlike this warm summer night.  His cock was hard and out when she got in his heated truck.  They didn’t even share small talk, he just pushed her head down on his dick and started fucking her mouth.  When all was said and done, after he had deposited his creamy load in her stomach, Max thought he noticed some sort of movement in the shadows.  He insisted on walking Katie to her car to make sure she was safe.  He held the door for her and gave her a hug and even waited until her car was warm and she drove off.  To Katie, that meant that he valued her, that he saw her as more than just a hole or three to fuck.  It made her feel beautiful and valued.

Right on time, Max pulled into the parking lot in his shiny Black Tahoe, kept the engine running, and blinked the high beams to signal for Katie to join him.  She wobbled in her cheap shoes to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in.  Before the door was closed good, she heard a voice from the back seat, “Hello Katie.”  Horrified, Katie turned.  She knew instinctively that it was Trenae.  Katie panicked and reached for the door.

“Freeze,” Max said calmly, knowing full well that he had power over Katie that his girlfriend never could.  He was right.  She loved the assertiveness and alpha male attitude Max had, there was something biologically magnetic about his masculinity that made her melt to his will.

“Now,” Trenae spoke softly, “I thought I told you, don’t contact my man ever again or there would be consequences. I did tell her that, didn’t I, Maxwell? Do you remember me telling her that?”

They laughed, “Yes, baby, I remember that very clearly.”

Turning to get a better look, the glow from the street lights illuminated Trenae just enough for Katie to realize she was out of her league.  Trenae’s outfit was flawless, even her makeup looked professionally done.  She was the type of women who would turn heads wherever she went.  She appeared to be the same height as Katie but it was clear that her deep, rich, ebony skin tone was without even the tiniest imperfection.  Her almond shaped eyes were enchanting; her full, African lips were pouty and inviting.  Her hair was a thick mass of kinks and curls.  It was more evident that she was Max’s equal aesthetically.  Katie, in that moment, felt all the fear and insecurity of a teenage girl in high school competing for attention for a boy with the captain of the cheerleading squad.

Trying to figure out the fastest way out of this situation, realizing she was over her head and that they had set her up, Katie started negotiating.  “Listen, I’m sorry I contacted you Max,” speaking directly to him and completely ignoring Trenae, “I just wanted to talk . . . I . . . I . . . I just needed to make sure that my life was safe. That’s all.  You have to understand, I just couldn’t take the chance that she was going to tell my husband.  I  . . . I won’t . . . look, I just want to go home and I promise I won’t contact you again.”

Trenae spoke up.  “Maxwell, does she look like she came here to just talk?  Looks like to me . . . I mean . . . to meeeeeee it looks like she came here to get fucked.  What does it look like to you?”

“If I were a gambling man . . . and I am . . . I would put my money on the fact that she came here to get some of this dick.”  He grabbed his thick package and they laughed.  Katie’s face was flush with color.  She was seething inside, angry and trying to figure out how to take control of the situation but trapped by her own ego.

Max put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street.  “Wait, where are we going?  I wanna go home,” Katie protested, “Let me out!”  She reached for the door handle like she was going to open it knowing full well that there was no way she was going to do that in a moving vehicle.  She was really starting to panic.  She didn’t know if they were going to hurt her or not.  All of her fears about how violent Black people are started flooding her brain.  She was hyperventilating and trying to hold back the tears.  She thought they were going to kill her, that she was going to be just like all those white women on the news who were kidnapped by Black men.  She could be forgiven for thinking that in the heat of the moment because she was too scared to realize that almost each and every allegation of a white women being kidnapped by a Black man was made up in an attempt by another adulterous married white whore to gain attention or get away from her husband.   Hot tears streamed down her face and smeared her makeup.

Less than ten minutes later, they pulled into an underground parking garage and she pulled herself together enough to get her wits about her.  She hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going so she couldn’t have gotten back to her car if she wanted.  At least, she thought, she still had her cell phone. She could call a taxi to take her back to her car or call the police if she had to.  She didn’t want to do that just yet, she didn’t want to have to answer questions to her husband about a police report so she just waited to see what was going to happen. “Where are we?  What are you going to do to me? This is kidnapping.  If you let me go now, I promise not to call the police.”

“I think you’ve forgotten something, Missy.  Max and I know the law a little bit better than you do.  We have proof that you wanted to meet with him.  It would be really hard for you to allege that we kidnapped you when you initiated the meeting,” Trenae responded casually as if she didn’t give a good god damn what Katie was threatening.  “You see, you broke the law, my law that I very specifically spelled out for you.”  Trenae got out of the truck and opened up the front door and held her hand out to help Katie down.  Katie defiantly ignored the gesture and held on to the door frame to get down.  Trenae continued as they all walked towards the door of a rather nice townhouse, Max leading the way.  “You know what happens when you break the law, Katie?  You have to suffer the consequences.  This here is the Trenae Roberts Justice system, and the people are represented by two separate but equally important factions: the bitch, that’s me, who investigates the crimes, and the black mother fucker, that’s Maxwell, who prosecutes the offenders.”  Trenae and Max burst out into outrageous laughter.  “You like that babe, I just made that up on the spot.  That was funny, right?”  They gave each other a fist bump and looked at Katie for some sign of acknowledgement that it was, in fact, hilarious.  Katie was not amused.

Max unlocked the door and they all ascended a flight of stairs that lead to a living room; Katie could see a kitchen and dining room off to the left.  By this time, her nerves had calmed down a bit and she was just waiting for what was going to happen.  She didn’t think they were going to hurt her so she was trying to figure out how she was going to explain all this to her husband because surely, she thought, that was their goal, to destroy her marriage.  Katie was calculating how much of this she could lie, deny, and exactly how trapped her husband felt in his life of mediocrity for him to overlook her transgression and opt to stay in a marriage.  If Katie could just convince him that it was a one-time mistake that she would never do again she was sure all would be forgiven.  “What do you want from me?  Money?  Well, I’m not going to give you any.  I know how you people are.  If I give in to your blackmail, it will never stop.  Go ahead, tell my husband.  He loves me and he’ll forgive me.”  Reverse psychology was not a skill set she had mastered.

Trenae rolled her eyes.  “Bitch, didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?  God damn!  Blackmail?  Dumb bitch.  Shut the hell up. You people?  Who the fuck does this bitch think we are, some sort of common criminals?  Give me a mother fucking break.”  Trenae’s tirade waned off into something incoherent as she and Max both went up another flight of stairs, leaving Katie sitting there, unattended.

In that moment, sitting there alone, unsure of what to do, Katie Largo felt completely out of her element.  She was trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it but her curiosity got the best of her and she was quite convinced she couldn’t make it very far in her heels without her feet blistering and bleeding.  She wanted to stay, she wanted to see just what Max and Trenae had in store for her.  She wanted to stay to see it out to the end, whatever that meant.  She had done all this to herself.  The cheating, insisting on contacting Max again, if she had only been sane enough to just walk away, none of this would have been happening.

At her core, in the deep recesses of her subconscious mind, she knew unequivocally that there was something wrong with her, that a normal, healthy, mature person wouldn’t have put themselves in this situation.  Her conscious mind told her, however, that it wasn’t people who looked like her who were motivated by lust, who made poor choices based on their libidos.  Katie was perfectly content to rationalize that she was justified for every single step she had taken thus far, she was OK with the lying, the cheating, the desperate and despicable behavior because her sexuality was so compartmentalized and dysfunctional, her self-perceptions of what it meant to be a married, white woman were so removed from her actual behaviors she could rationalize that everything she had done to date was acceptable.

“Come here, bitch,” Max bellowed from upstairs.  Katie wobbled on her heels to the stairs and saw Trenae standing at the top of the staircase.  She was dressed in a pair of black panties, a matching bra, and heels that didn’t appear to belong to either a stripper or a hooker.  She did appear to be rather annoyed, however.  Katie didn’t even let it faze her and she ascended the stairs slowly.  When she got to the top of the stairs, Trenae stood firmly in the way between Katie and Max and she wouldn’t move.  She stood there stoically, silently waiting for Katie to ask permission to pass.  It was a test of wills, a showdown of woman vs. woman, a battle of the bitches.  Max appeared at a bedroom door off to the side, “What are you waiting for, bitch, I told you to come here?”

Feeling empowered, Katie physically pushed Trenae to the side and breezed past her to stand obediently by Max’s side.  She felt quite proud of herself, like she was serving her Master well, so much so that she was oblivious to the audible gasp of outrage and shock by both Max and Trenae.  To her credit, it wasn’t as if she was being intentionally disrespectful to Trenae it was just that Katie couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept that she was inferior to her.  She suffered from a form of cognitive dissonance, it was impossible for her to grasp that she didn’t possess some sort of inherent privileged status over Trenae.  In Katie’s mind, she had white skin and that meant that she had to mean more to Max on some hierarchal/genetic/intrinsic level.  To contemplate anything other than that would cause her brain to shut down.

Even though she couldn’t articulate her beliefs, even though Katie had never once given an ounce of thought to her relationship with Black women (or more appropriately, the lack of a relationship with them) Katie had lived her entire, pathetic 48 years with the subconscious belief that she was better than Black women and never exposed herself to a person or experience that would challenge that belief.  She didn’t know anything about Black women, nor did she care.  She had never leafed through the pages of an Essence Magazine, she had never read a book by Toni Morrison or Alice Walker, she had never once seen Waiting to Exhale or The Color Purple; Katie had never had a real Black girlfriend in her life.  She would occasionally glance at a picture of Michelle Obama when some website was reporting about her outfit or she would stare in mild disgust as she surfed the TV at one of those shows where Black women were weaved out, backstabbing, social-climbers but that was really the extent of her interaction with or contemplation about Black women.   Pushing Trenae aside was like flicking a bug off her plate at a cookout.  She felt no connection, care, or concern.

Max was not so disaffected.  “Bitch, are you crazy?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  How dare you disrespect my queen like that.”  If the real life situation had been a 70’s Blaxploitation flick, this would have been the scene where Katie would have gotten soundly pimp-slapped and ended up flying half way across the room.  Katie stared up at Max in sincere shock and disbelief.  She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand.  Standing there, wide-eyed and bewildered, Katie wondered why Max appeared to be upset.  She knew Trenae was his girlfriend but that didn’t mean much to her.  She figured that she had a husband whom she casually disrespected all the time so couldn’t grasp why Max appeared to be upset with her for pushing aside just a girlfriend.

Max grabbed Katie by the arm and dragged her into the bedroom.  She scrambled behind trying not to fall.  It was clearly a spare bedroom because it was sparsely furnished.  There was a small lamp on the corner of the desk that illuminated the entire room and kept everyone in shadow.  Trenae appeared at the door and she walked over to Max and he put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the forehead.  “You okay, babe?  I mean . . . she didn’t hurt you or anything did she?”

Trenae chuckled and offered, “No, she didn’t hurt me but thank you, precious, for being concerned about me,” and kissed him back on the lips. It was a tender, sweet exchange and for a brief moment Katie felt a pang of jealousy that she had never, not once in her life, had anyone kiss her so tenderly, with such meaning.  Trenae immediately picked up on Katie’s look of insecurity and took advantage of the situation.  Sliding her hand up Max’s now bare, muscled chest, she teased his nipple briefly before bringing her hand around to the back of his neck and pulling him down to her, she kissed him passionately.  Their kiss wasn’t just a kiss; it was the communication of African spirits freed from bondage.  Alvin Ailey himself couldn’t have choreographed a better dance of tongues and thick, full lips moving together in harmony.  Max’s hands roamed down the sides of Trenae’s body, finding their resting place on the curves of her full, round ass.  Filling his hands with her meat, he pulled her body closer as they continued to kiss.  Gentle, soft moans escaped her lips and her body began to writhe and move like she was fucking Max standing up.

Katie cleared her throat.  She thought to herself, “I have too much self-respect to let them ignore me like some sort of inconsequential furnishing.  I’m not going to take this.”  The fact that she had been on her knees in a public restroom performing oral sex on FOUR men a few months ago, the fact that she had been slapped, choked, gagged, and degraded and asked for more, the fact that self-respect was the last term that should ever be associated with her was an irony totally and completely lost on her.  “Look,” she said rather arrogantly, “If you two want to be alone I can . . .”

Before the words completely left her lips, both Max and Trenae said in syncopated harmony, “Bitch, SHUT UP,” and she was effectively silenced.  Their patience was running thin for Katie’s company so they decided to move the action along.  Katie was instructed to take off her shoes and Trenae pulled off her pants and thong and left her there with just her sparkly shirt on.  Max reached in her top and pulled out her tits, leaving her exposed in a vulgar, obscene way.

During all of the adjustments and maneuvering, Katie stood there and complied like a malleable, pliable doll, not once voicing any concern or desire to be let go.  Max squeezed her saggy breasts with their age spots and stretch marks and brown nipples that never really got hard and for a split second, it registered as pain in her mind and she cried out and tried to pull away.  The discomfort didn’t last long and was commuted to pleasure in her brain in short order and she was begging for more.

“You like that, don’t you?”  Trenae whispered softly in her ear from behind, her body intimately close.  Katie responded by whimpering.  She didn’t like it, she loved it.  Trenae continued.  “You really are a nasty slut, aren’t you, a filthy white whore?  Look at you, turned on by being treated like an object.  You came here to get your pussy, mouth, and asshole pounded by some hard, black cock.  You want Maxwell to fill your horny cunt with his hot sperm, have it dripping out when you go home to your little-dicked hubby.  I bet your pussy is wet right now just thinking about it, isn’t it?”  Katie nodded, never making a sound, never taking her eyes off Max but she was fixated on the voice that was in her ear, in her head really, saying all the things that she wanted to hear.

Standing in the middle of the room and all of her senses heightened, Katie craved release.  She wanted to get fucked and used and to have it all culminate in an explosive orgasm.  Trenae brought her hand around and placed it against Katie’s collar bone and slowly and purposefully slid her hand upward until it was firmly wrapped around Katie’s throat.  She applied pressure firmly and gently, restricting her air, sensually choking her.  It wasn’t vicious or mean-spirited, it was a symbolic gesture declaring, “You might not have any care or concern for me, I but control you, I know you. I see through your flimsy façade of conservatism to who you really are and what you are is an empty, soulless woman who will use anyone or anything to get what you want.”  Trenae squeezed harder.  Katie remained stoic but her eyes told a different story.  She was terrified, not of getting choked but of who and what she really was.

Max backed away slowly, watching the two women, Katie never took her eyes off him.  Attired only in black boxer briefs, the evidence of his arousal was clear to see, even in the dimly lit room.  Trenae squeezed harder still.  Katie’s eyes started to dart around the room.  She wasn’t sure what the rules of this game were supposed to be but she didn’t want to show any fear to Max.  It was like a game of chicken except Katie was the only player.  Max wanted to see when she would break, when she would start to panic.  Lack of control was killing her much more so than lack of oxygen and she caved to the pressure.  Desperately grabbing, she tried to pry Trenae’s fingers from their grip on her esophagus but they wouldn’t budge.

“You cheating, lying, amoral, disgusting whore!”  In her haze of confusion, Katie almost couldn’t tell where the words were coming from.  For a split second she thought she might have said them herself.  Without warning, Trenae loosened the grasp around Katie’s neck and she fell to the floor crying, a mass of whimpering flesh.  This wasn’t arousing to her anymore.  She wanted to go home, to go back to her reality where she never had to think about anything.

Trenae walked over to the bed, kneeled on the foot of it, and waved her finger for Max to come to her.  He was magnetically drawn to her and stepped over Katie like she wasn’t even there.  He put his hands on her waist and they kissed, this time, more fevered and passionate.  Max kissed the nape of her neck and Trenae looked directly at Katie and silently mouthed the words, “Sweetie, you will NEVER have this.”  Throwing her head back, she luxuriated in the kiss.  Katie looked on in horror.  She knew what was going to happen.  She wanted it to stop but she knew better than to say anything.  In silence on the floor, half naked and her pussy wet, she watched as the pair began to make love in front of her very eyes.

This was her torture, this was her punishment.  She was going to have to be forced to witness what was unobtainable in her life: true passion, true love.  She would much rather be beaten and whipped and made to do unspeakable acts of depravity rather than to see the object of her lust and passion completely consumed by the charms of another woman, a woman with whom she couldn’t even pretend to feel some connection.  In a move that Katie thought only happened in the movies, Max started to sing to Trenae, really sing.  He was serenading her and doing it extremely well.  She never knew Max could sing let alone so well.  “Like sweet morning dew, I took one look at you, and it was plain to see, you were my destiny.”

Katie’s eyes rolled around in complete disgust.  She was sickened by the entire scene.  She was mumbling under her breath, “This fucking sucks.  Who the hell does that in real life?  Who the hell sings when they are having sex?”  What she longed for was for him to sing to her that way.  What she wanted to say was, “How can he be so intelligent, articulate, built, attractive, sexy, and talented in one package?”  What she REALLY meant was, “How can ‘a Black’ be all those things?”  She didn’t even want to give him the credit of calling him a Black man; to her he was a big black cock and HER plaything and little more, something that she used to fulfill her desires.  Even in this supposedly “post-racial” society, she still expected Black men to be thugs and savages even if her politically-correct filter said otherwise in public.  She was okay when she thought of him being little more than a savage Mandingo to fuck her.  She knew he was educated and she was okay with him being good at basketball and rapping or something like that but the tenderness and affection he was showing Trenae made her blood boil because he had never once shown her anything of the sort.

Trenae and Max completely forgot that Katie was there and focused on each other.  Max picked up Trenae and laid her on the bed.  Making his way from her neck down her body, he licked, sucked and kissed every inch of her beautiful, brown skin.  He removed her bra and freed her succulent and heavy breasts.  Trenae’s nipples were as hard as tiny pebbles and stuck up in the air waiting to be sucked.  He sucked and bit her nipples, going back and forth from one to the other, causing her to moan and grab the back of his head.  It was clear she enjoyed the treatment because she was humping her pussy against Max’s thigh, deriving even more pleasure and stimulation during his foreplay.  She wrapped her legs around his back and directed him to stay there, to feast on her tits.  He had other plans.  Max had a map and the next stop on her body he was going to pleasure was her belly.  He tongue fucked her navel kissed his way down to her pantyline and left a trail of soft kisses all the way back up to her tummy.

Trenae loved foreplay as much as the next woman but she was so turned on by the prospect of being watched, of showing the white women cowering on the floor across the room what it was like when a woman is savagely fucked by a man who loves her without being degraded and humiliated, she didn’t want to wait.  She wanted to show her what making love looked like when it was hot and sweaty and sticky and fevered.  She wanted to hurry things along a bit so she thought she would try a little bit of encouragement.  “Baby, I need you inside me right now.  I’m so desperate for you to give me every single inch of that dick.  Come on, feel my pussy, see how I’ve soaked my panties through?  Stick your fingers in there.  Oooooh, shit, that feels so good when you do that.  You want that don’t you?  I know you do.  I know you love the way my pussy feels.  Come on, boo, fuck me.”

Max hadn’t even thought about their little voyeur nor was he paying attention to what Trenae was saying, at least not completely.  All he was concerned about was how many times he could make his lady cum before he did and he had a game plan and he wasn’t going to deviate from it.  Max spread her legs to tenderly kiss the warm insides of her thighs.  He licked the juncture where her legs joined her body and he could feel how soaking wet her panties had become.  Trenae had given up trying to convince him to penetrate her at that point and she was trying to make herself cum by sticking her hand in her panties and rubbing her clit.  Max wanted no part in that and he held her hands by her sides as he blew hot breath on her mound and licked the wetness through her panties.  He made her cry out and try to fuck his face but he still had an agenda.  He moved on.

Max was a foot man and he was turned on by Trenae’s sexy feet.  There was no way he was going to miss out on kissing, licking, and sucking her little toes or feeling them rubbed on his erection.  He had a lot of ground to cover in the interim, however.  After taking a painstakingly long time to kiss his way down her legs, he started out by giving her a little foot massage.  Her perfectly pedicured little coral-colored tootsies looked like candy to him.  He placed her foot against his lips and the sexy little part of her toes between the tips and where they joined her foot.  He inhaled deeply and adjusted his dick because a true foot lover knows that the hint of foot aroma is incredibly arousing.  Slowly, seductively, he put all ten of her toes in his mouth one at a time and sucked softly, tickling her and driving her crazy.    He stood up momentarily and pulled down his briefs and stroked his now leaking dick just a little to take the edge off.  Trenae was not just a spectator during all of this, she was caressing her body, playing with her nipples; she was rubbing her fingers in the slippery folds of her pussy and teasing herself.

The temperature in the room was climbing from the sexual heat.  It was time to move on and this time, Max made his way up the back of her body with his mouth.  Sucking the backs of her knees caused Trenae to giggle uncontrollably.  He left trails of wet kisses all the way up the backs of her thighs.  Sliding off her panties, he spread the cheeks of her ass and ran his tongue deep in the crevice.  Trenae loved the feel of his tongue there and thrust her hips up in the air.  “Now, that’s an ass,” Max proclaimed as he playfully spanked it and licked her pussy from behind.  He didn’t spend too much time there and his hands deeply kneaded the tension in her back muscles away as he ended up where he started, kissing and sucking her gorgeous neck.

Trenae had had just about enough of all the teasing and she instructed Max rather firmly, “Roll over!”  On his back, his feet on the floor, Trenae climbed on top of Max’s face and planted her pussy squarely on his mouth.  His arms circled around her hips and his tongue went into action.  Trenae rode him hard.  She held on to the headboard and was grunting and groaning as she maneuvered her clit back and forth across his tongue and had him lick her from front to back.  Her juices coated his face and Max didn’t want to come up for air.  One thing was for sure, Trenae wanted to cum and that she did, exploding with force as Max nursed her clit between his lips.

Not missing a beat, she managed to steady herself and position herself between Max’s legs kneeling on the floor.  It was her turn to give pleasure with her mouth and that she did.  Trenae had skills.  She grabbed the thickness of Max’s dick and used her tongue to work him into a state of arousal like Katie had never seen before.  There was no gagging and spit flying everywhere; she simply used her tongue and lips to lick and suck to near completion.  Every time she could tell he was getting closer, she would stop, give him a minute to catch his breath and then she would start again.  Every time she did, Max got more and more frantic, desperate to cum, pleading with her. “Please baby, let me fuck you.  Come on, I give. I want to feel your wet walls wrapped around my hard shaft. Let me shoot this hot nut I have been saving just for you deep inside you.”

The couple was at their limit for teasing and foreplay and Trenae climbed on top of Max and slid her tight pussy down on him slowly, getting used to his thickness and his length.    The three of them gasped audibly and in unison.  Katie was in the corner of the room, masturbating furiously.  She didn’t want to be turned on but she was.  She had her legs up in the air and spread obscenely and she was ramming three fingers in and out of her horny cunt furiously while her other hand groped and pinched her nipple.  The pair didn’t even notice.  Trenae placed her hands on Max’s chocolate brown chest and worked her ass like only a sista could do.  She hadn’t even worked her magic a full three minutes before Max had to grab her hips and stop her or he was going to explode before she could have another orgasm.

Flipping her over and positioning her ass high in the air, he rubbed the tip of his dick on her wet slit.  “What are you waiting for lover,” Trenae asked as she looked over her shoulder and tempted him to drive it home.  And that’s what he did.  Reaching around, he fingered her clit and worked up a steady rhythm.  It wasn’t fast and furious, it wasn’t slow either.  He had their special pace, one that drove both of them crazy while lingering just this side of ecstasy.  Trenae’s moans turned to screams of passion her words were frenzied and incoherent.  The smell of sweat and pussy and sex filled the room.  Max was seconds away from his nut and he flipped her over on her back, threw her legs up in the air and drove it home, causing both of them to cry out.  He pressed their bodies together and kissed her deeply, her air filling his lungs.  Over and over he pumped his hard dick in her and she took it all.  Trenae came first, wrapping her legs around him and shaking uncontrollably and Max pumped her full of his semen.  Worn out, he fell on the bed next to her and cradled her to his chest and kissed her forehead gently again.  As their breathing calmed down, the barely detectable sounds of Katie sobbing in the corner could just be heard.

All three dressed without saying much.  Max and Trenae were basking in the afterglow and Katie didn’t know what to say.  It was the early morning hours and Katie hoped she could sneak in the house without waking up the kids.  Max and Trenae held hands on the way back to the parking lot and spoke mostly of relationship stuff, work stuff, plans they had to meet up with friends, and commitments that had with each other’s family.  Katie sat in the back seat this time and wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what to say.  As they pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the truck, she mustered up the courage to laugh nervously and say, “Hey! You guys want to know something?  That was fun.  If you want to do it again, where you know, you can do stuff to me, I would be open for it.  I would even, you know, do stuff to her,” nodding her head in the general direction of Trenae.

Max responded.  “Katie, if you even make an attempt to contact me again I will be forced to play hardball with you and you really, really don’t want me to do that.”

“Oh, yeah, I totally understand,” she said, “I got it.  No problem.  I was just saying, you know.”  She slammed the door to his truck hard, wanting to go out in a flourish and show her passive aggressive rage and displeasure.  This time, he didn’t wait to see if she was in her car safely and they pulled off into the night.  Katie got in her car and sat there for a minute, still horny and largely unsatisfied, wondering how long she should wait before she contacted Max again.

Copyright 2012 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Action: Two beautiful people are snuggled on the sofa, sharing in each other’s time, space, dreams, and love.  They vibe off each other, they complement each other, they desire each other.  What makes this scene different is that the man and woman are graced with the kisses of warm, rich hues of ebony upon their skin.  It was their ancestors who survived the horrific Middle Passage, shackled and chained like livestock, whose sweat, blood, and tears moistened the soil that made this nation what it is, and who survived dehumanizing slavery so that their descendents could live and thrive and love.  And love they do, but it’s not a rushed, clichéd formulaic love, it’s tender, purposed, sensual, and it’s soulful.  It’s Sensu-Soul.

Tracy Robinson had a hard and fast rule: Do NOT, under any circumstances, never, ever, ever fool around with a married man.  She’d been married and cheated on and she remembered all too well the pain it caused her.  In her mind there was no valid, justifiable reason to date someone who she knew was going to be a liar from the very beginning; she had enough respect for herself to not date someone else’s man.  Because she was bisexual, the same theory applied to women as well.  Women were slightly different in that she rarely, if ever, had a married woman trying to seduce her.  Most women weren’t after illicit sex and extramarital liaisons with random other women so while Tracy felt morally righteous and superior for saying on principle that she never messed around with a married woman, the instances of her being tempted by a married woman were almost non-existent.

Tracy was the kind of woman who felt comfortable adhering to rules.  She’d served in the military for 20 years and was now enjoying her life pursuing her dreams of becoming an artist.  In many ways, it was the exact opposite of the strict, rigid life she’d had in The Army.  She could stand in front of a canvas for hours, sometimes forgetting to eat, on only two or three hours of sleep a night, and paint to her heart’s content.  Several local galleries were showing her work and while the sales were few and far between, they were enough to keep her motivated to continue her passion.  Her military pension paid the bills so she was comfortable and happy.  Single life wasn’t necessarily to her liking but she wasn’t so desperate to be in relationship that she would jump at the first man who showed her attention either.  Her 40th birthday was coming up, she was relatively content in life, and didn’t really have a care in the world.

When they say that life has a way of knocking you off your feet, sometimes that can be literal.  In her garden pulling weeds one day, Tracy made a wrong move and ended up face up in amongst her gardenias unable to move.  If it hadn’t been for her trusty letter carrier happening along, she might have been there for hours.  After a very brief stint in the local hospital, she ended up in the VA for rehabilitation and physical therapy.  She’d injured her back in the military years before and it had a habit of acting up every once in a while, but after a few days rest, it might literally be years before another flare up.  If her blood sugar hadn’t been so out of control, she would have been released with the usual, “Take care, don’t over-exert yourself, take two pain killers and call me in the morning,” shtick.  The combination of the medicine and the fact that she hadn’t been eating well were causing her glucose levels to go up and down like a yo-yo, sometimes spiking to dangerous levels.   They released her but with orders for a nurse to come visit her home for follow up visits and make sure she was getting insulin when and if she needed it and monitor her progress.  Say what you want about the military, and disregarding the times when they occasionally drop the ball, their care for their own is beyond compare.

Itching to get back to her canvases and ready to assume more responsibility for her health, Tracy started eating well and doing all the exercises they suggested she do for slowly strengthening her back muscles the minute she got home.  If there was a regimen to be performed, Tracy could do it.  She didn’t want or need a nurse coming to check on her; she wanted to paint.  Twice a week, whether she wanted it or not, a nurse was to come to check on her until the doctor released her.  The first day Karen showed up, Tracy tried her best to be polite but it was more than apparent that she was frustrated and anxious about someone taking care of her.  Karen was respectful of the retired Major, even calling her Ma’am.  She was warm, gracious, and a highly competent nurse as well.  Tracy insisted, “Do not call me Ma’am.  I’m not in the military anymore.”  The two ladies had a rapport immediately.  While she could have been in and out in twenty minutes, Karen stayed for almost an hour, getting to know her new patient and asking all sorts of questions to ensure that she was getting the best care possible and that her recovery was imminent.  Karen was very personable, meaning she liked getting to know her patients in order to provide them with the absolute best care. She felt like it was her responsibility to extend herself to her patients, to be a friend to them.

Karen was, for all intents and purposes . . . well . . . not exactly the complete physical opposite of Tracy, but there were some significant differences.  Other than the obvious difference in race, Tracy being Black and Karen being white; Tracy was taller than average, Karen was of average height.  They both had similar builds but Karen had recently given birth and was nursing and the owner of very large, very sensitive breasts.  They were both very attractive women who didn’t feel a need to flaunt it and downplayed their attractiveness out of sensibility and practicality.  The two women hit it off immediately and seemed to become friends from essentially day one.  There was that connection, that intangible bond you get sometimes when you meet someone and you feel as if you’ve known them forever.  Or, at the very least, that you can open up to them in ways you can’t with others.  Karen hadn’t even been coming two full weeks when Tracy started looking forward to her visits.  They would break up the monotony of her day, provide her company, and she enjoyed sharing her artwork with Karen.

One day, Karen stopped by on a day she wasn’t scheduled to visit.  She said she just wanted to check up on Tracy.  The visit lasted almost two hours and the women talked about life, love, and everything else under the sun.  It was that day that Tracy realized that the chemistry she shared with Karen was more than platonic.  It was that night that Tracy allowed herself to have her very first fantasy about Karen.  She lay in bed, tossing and turning, fantasizing about her new friend.  Her hormones raged and her body ached to explore a more physical, sensual connection with the woman who had mandatory access to her home two times a week.  Because she had been compelled to keep her sexuality secret and hidden in the military, Tracy had been accustomed to not opening up to anyone but potential lovers about her preferences.  The newly emerging artist in Tracy was different. It was almost as if the minute she picked up a paint brush, she became committed to telling the truth, with her art and with her heart.

“Hey friend, come on in,” Tracy said as she opened the door widely to greet Karen on her next scheduled visit.  This time, rather than her hands and clothes being covered in paint, she was wearing a teal colored blouse and jeans that would be what she’d wear on a casual date with a man.  She watched for Karen’s reaction carefully as she undid the buttons on her shirt to reveal a black lace push up bra as she listened to her heart.  Tracy rested her right hand on Karen’s thigh as she pricked the finger on her left hand to test her blood sugar.  Still no response.  Karen seemed to be oblivious to any sexual tension and went about her business professionally and reported that she would in fact be telling the doctor that Tracy was cleared for release.

Visibly saddened, Tracy sighed and said, “I’m going to miss you, friend. It’s been great getting to know you over this short period of time.”

“Oh, I can still stop by and see you,” Karen responded.  “I have other patients in the area and I would be more than happy to stop by and check on you every once in a while.”  She added, “You know, my life is so routine, so predictable.  I’ve been married to the same man for fifteen years, we’ve been in a relationship since high school; I’ve been in the military for more than a decade. I’m a mom and a wife and a nurse.  You’re an artist.  I admire what you’re doing.  It’s so, you know, different. I think what you’re doing is fascinating and I love your work and I just think you’re a really interesting, really nice person.”   It wasn’t exactly what Tracy wanted to hear but it felt nice regardless and she knew Karen was being sincere.  The last things she wanted to do was alienate her new friend so they hugged goodbye with promises of seeing one another again.

Before the week was out, Karen called and asked if it was okay if she stopped by.  Tracy was elated.  She grabbed a bottle of wine, some cheese and crackers and set out a little tray.  “I finished with all my patients early today and I just didn’t feel like going home yet,” Karen blurted out the second she walked in.  “My sister-in-law is watching the baby and my older two have practice after school.  I just needed a little adult time, I hope you don’t mind.”

Mind?  Was she crazy?  Tracy was elated.  Karen graciously accepted the offer of the chilled Pinot Grigio at 3:00 in the afternoon and nibbled on the smoked gouda and crackers.  Nestled comfortably on her sofa, the two women continued to open up to one another in ways that far exceeded most burgeoning friendships.  They were both revealing personal information about each other, about their sex lives, love lives, fears, dreams, frustrations, things that usually come after knowing someone a long time.  As the proverbial clock struck 5, Karen had to leave and her car was barely out the driveway before Tracy had her vibrator out and was frantically stimulating her already aroused pussy.

In the following weeks, the unscripted visits became more frequent, with Karen sometimes stopping by on her lunch breaks, after seeing all her patients, and even on her days off.  The beauty of their conversations was that they were deep, raw, and honest, not at all superficial. Tracy didn’t want to seem obvious, so some days she would offer herbal tea or juice, others nothing at all, and occasionally, when she thought she might get Karen to loosen up a bit more, she offered some form of alcohol, you know, all under the guise of being a gracious hostess.  Her nights were tortured and sweaty, fantasizing about making love to her new friend, terrified she might lose her if she revealed her lust but aroused beyond belief by the connection.

Eventually, Tracy knew it was time to reveal her true feelings.  She decided she would do it with a painting.  Inspired, the piece came to life and she invited her friend to her studio to reveal it.  “It’s not finished,” she mumbled, terrified about being rejected as an artist and a friend.  As Karen stared at the canvas, she could clearly make out two women who could not be confused for anyone other than herself and Tracy in a very intimate, semi-nude embrace.

“Oh my!  Is that who I think it is?”  Tracy nodded, too scared to say anything at that moment.  “I’m flattered,” Karen said, trying to be careful not to hurt her friend’s feelings.  “You know . . . I’m not attracted to you like that, right?  I just want to be friends.”

Tracy felt a sense of relief almost.  It wasn’t as if she wanted Karen to rip her clothes off and for them to fuck in the middle of the floor, it was more like she just needed her friend to see all of her, to know her truth, to not hide any parts of herself anymore.  She felt free.  She mumbled something about the chemistry and the connection they shared and apologized in ten different ways for making Karen uncomfortable and asked if they could just remain friends.  For all of her infatuation, Tracy knew that Karen was married and she wasn’t about to break that rule, even if the attraction was mutual.

The dynamics of the relationship did change after that.  Karen was more hesitant to come by, not because she didn’t like Tracy any more but because she felt awkward.  Tracy was gracious but offered no alcohol on their brief visits.  Their conversations were more tentative and reserved for a few weeks.  Before long, water found its own level and everything was back to being comfortable, with the small exception of the fact that they two didn’t mention the sexual attraction thing.  It didn’t need to be mentioned.  There was a growing sexual tension between the two women.  They would sit closer together on the sofa, touch more.  A bright lamp in the corner of the room would eventually become replaced by the soft glow of candlelight.  Their hugs goodbye lasted longer and it was more than evident that Karen was beginning to trust Tracy in ways she never thought possible.

“What’s it like,” Karen asked one day as she stared at her cup of tea, assuming Tracy would know immediately what she was talking about.

Tracy did understand.  The rapport they had built together was based on a certain level of non-verbal communication.  “You mean being with another woman?”  Karen nodded.  “Well, it can be the most tender, gentle, sensual experience you’ve ever had, in a way that no man could ever touch you, kiss you or satisfy you.  It can be just as intense and frenzied as fucking a man.  Mostly, for me, the difference is there is no end objective.  You know when you’re with a man that everything he does is with one goal in mind, to get to the fucking.  With a woman, there is no such agenda; it’s all about the journey, not the destination.  I’ve made love to a woman for eight hours once and my only goal was to get her to the very edge of orgasm and then stop over and over and over again.  At the end of six hours, she was screaming for me to . . . ”  Tracy stopped in mid sentence.  Karen was breathing heavy, visibly aroused, and her shirt showed signs of her breasts leaking.  She leaned in close and tilted Karen’s face towards hers, their lips virtually close enough for a kiss, making intense eye contact.  “Are you okay?”

“You know, I told John about  . . . you know . . . about . . . well, I told him about the painting and everything.  We aren’t prudes by any means, we experiment like any other couple, watch porn, whatever we can to keep our sex life from being boring.  It’s just that you do get in a rut after you’ve been married a while, the same thing no matter how hard you try.  He got really turned on when I told him.  In fact, our sex life has been really great ever since I shared with him about  . . . it, I mean us, I mean . . . you know what I mean.  It’s just that, I keep wondering what it would be like to . . . you know . . . well, I’m sure you know.  The last thing I want to do is lead you on and I don’t want to lose our friendship but I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’ve been thinking about what it would be like.”  Karen was blushing and embarrassed but intimate enough with her friend to open up honestly.

Tracy reached out and held her friend’s hand.  “I’ll answer any questions you have and I won’t stop being your friend.  I won’t do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable.  I promise.  I have a policy; I don’t fool around with anyone who is married so we are pretty safe to talk about anything.  It will go no further than that.  If you want to talk about sex with me and go home and fuck your husband like crazy, that is just fine with me.”

They both laughed and hugged but the sexual tension was so thick in the air you could cut it with a knife.  Karen gathered her things and bolted out there like lightning.  Over the next few months, their relationship took on a new dynamic.  Karen flirted, tempted, and teased and Tracy was holding fast to her rule about not fooling around with a married woman.  Karen started forsaking her other friends, friends she’s known since high school, to come spend time Tracy.  She loved the feeling of freedom she got the very minute she walked through the door, the ability to tell the truth that she didn’t have with her other friends.  She loved the sexual tension and she had begun being more discriminate about the things she shared with her husband, not wanting him to know exactly how turned on she was getting sharing time with another woman.  Karen knew that for all Tracy’s integrity, she would never cross the line, so she felt nothing about teasing her friend, making not so subtle suggestions and then running out the door to the safety of her husband and married life.

One night, a little after one in the morning, Karen, audibly upset, called Tracy and said, “Sorry to wake you, but John and I had a really bad fight, do you mind if I crash at your place?  I just can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to him right now.  I need to get out of the house and I . . . well, I just want to come there to be honest.”  Tracy extended an offer for her friend to stay with her and said she would leave a key under the mat and the guest room ready for her whenever she got there.  Karen was already on her way.

Within a half hour, she was in Tracy’s driveway and the key was under the mat as promised.  She quietly let herself in and peeked in the guest room with towels on the end of the bed and a cute little gift basket of toiletries on the dresser.  Tentatively, she walked past the guest room to Tracy’s master bedroom.  Curiosity had gotten the best of her and she had to find out what it was like in real life.  She was desperate to know what it was like to make love to another woman.  She tiptoed in and folded her clothes in a neat pile as she undressed completely.  Tracy lay sleeping quietly.  She pulled back the covers and crawled in bed, snuggling her body against the warmth of her friend’s brown body.

Tracy awoke immediately, still groggy but very sure that there was a naked body next to hers.  “Karen, what are you doing?  Don’t do this.  Please.”

Tracy’s words were silenced with a kiss.  Karen placed her lips against Tracy’s and they shared an intimate, tender kiss, like only two women can share.  Again, Tracy protested.  “Karen, I’m not strong enough to withstand this kind of pressure.  What about John?”

“I need this.  I want this!  You want it too.  Please, don’t make me go.  Make love to me.  Fuck me.  Do whatever you want to me but don’t make me go.”  The words choked up in her throat as the tears came.  She couldn’t leave, she wouldn’t leave.  This wasn’t just about some random fuck with a stranger to get off.  This wasn’t a cheap thrill.  This was a woman she loved as a friend, cared about, shared with, and to whom she was strangely attracted.  She wanted to experience the thing that she had tried to deny for months.  There was no denying that her clit would throb and her pussy would get moist when she was with Tracy, when they were sitting back talking, at times not even about sex.  There was no denying that when she was having sex with her husband, she was thinking about what it would feel like to have a woman’s mouth on her, licking her, tasting her, eating her, about how different it would feel.

She didn’t have time to think too much about the ramifications of her actions.  Tracy rolled over and positioned herself over Karen.  Their legs intertwined.  Karen reached up and pulled the t-shirt from Tracy’s sleepy frame and tossed it to the floor.  She felt sexy and wanted in the moment.

“Are you sure you want this, want me?”

Feeling more confident than she’d felt in a very long time, she reached up and placed her mouth on Tracy’s.  Their lips gently parted and their tongues found each other’s.  Electricity shot through Karen’s body.  Almost immediately, her pussy began to throb and pulse, getting wetter than she’d remembered in a very long time.  A sound escaped her lips, one of pleasure and arousal.  Tracy kissed her back and their kiss because more passionate but still very, extraordinarily sensual.   Tracy kissed her way down Karen’s neck, tasting her skin, pressing her lips to the erotic hot spots Karen had almost forgotten she had.  Her body responded.  She was writhing, twisting, panting and incredibly turned on.  She’d imagined what it would be like to be with a woman but in her wildest imagination she had never thought that it would feel so excruciatingly erotic.  By the time Tracy’s lips got to her collar bone, sounds were escaping her lips that sounded strange to her own ears.

In the darkness of her bedroom, in the middle of the night, Tracy put aside all her misgivings about engaging in an affair with a married person and gave in to her desires.  Before her was a sensual woman, a needy woman who deserved to be made love to and pleasured like she’d never experienced previously.  The woman beneath her was a friend, a person she knew inside and out, a woman she had craved sexually for months.  She took her time and prepared to pleasure and seduce Karen until she begged her to stop.

If she had been given the opportunity to prepare, she would have had various toys and things like honey, ice cubes, satin sheets, a blindfold, and maybe even a hot all-girl movie ready.  With nothing but her hands and mouth, she set to work.  Unsure of how to handle the lactation thing, she decided to proceed slowly and let Karen decide how and where she should go.  With that decision, she decided to lick everywhere but her nipples.  Methodically, she kissed, licked, and erotically nibbled her way from Karen’s collarbone to her belly button and back again, not missing a spot in between.

Every nerve ending in Karen’s body felt alive with excitement.  She was tense and aroused and nervous all at the same time.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she gripped the sheets tightly and held on for dear life.  Tracy took Karen’s hands and placed them on her hips.  Even in the darkness of night, she could see the contrast in skin tone, feel the softness of a woman’s flesh.  Her hands began to roam, gently caressing Tracy’s curves.  Tracy responded, “Mmmmm, that feels so nice.  Don’t stop.  Oh, yeah, feel my tits.”  Karen froze momentarily and then took a deep breath and did just that.  The weight, the fullness, the feeling of those hard, dark nipples in her hands was sensory overload.  Something deep inside her, something instinctual made her want those nipples in her mouth.  Without saying a word, Tracy knew and lowered her tits to her waiting mouth.

Karen took to making love to a woman like a duck takes to water.  She licked and kissed and softly sucked like she wanted to be sucked.  She did it the way she knew deep in her gut would feel pleasurable.  In that moment she understood what people meant when they said that only another woman knows how to pleasure a woman.  Tracy was moaning, rubbing her pussy against Karen’s thigh.  It was slippery and hot and distracting.  “Oh, Tracy, this is driving me crazy.  Fuck me.”

Tracy responded with a smile.  She turned Karen over and proceeded to kiss her way down her back, her thighs, all over her ass, her tongue leaving a wet trail down her spine.  Karen had had enough of the tease and wanted more.  Tracy grabbed her hips and pulled her to her knees, causing Karen to gasp for air.  She gently parted the soft, pink folds of flesh that enveloped all that made Karen a woman and stared.  Almost imperceptibly, she took her finger and gently caressed Karen’s clit.  In that moment Karen was 100% sure John had never touched her so softly, never found her spot so intentionally.  She arched her back and let out a hiss.  Her breathing was short, raspy.  The sensation didn’t last long as Tracy’s fingertips explored further, softly touching and caressing her soaking wet pussy.  The next sensation she felt was that of hot breath on her inner thighs, her ass, her pussy.  It was as if Tracy was making love to her pussy with her eyes, not even touching it, just looking at it, examining it in a way no one had ever done before.  Karen was chanting, “Eat me . . . lick me . . . fuck me . . . FUCK ME . . .”

Reaching between her legs, Karen started to rub her own pussy but Tracy moved her hand away.  She replaced her fingertip with her tongue and began to lick softly.  Karen’s words now were incoherent, she was speaking the language of supreme ecstasy.  From her clit to her asshole and back again, Tracy tasted every inch of Karen’s wet slit.  She sucked where she was supposed to, licked in just the right spots.  And just when Karen didn’t think she could take any more teasing, Tracy took her fingers and pushed them inside Karen’s dripping wet pussy.  They probed and pushed all the right spots.  That was enough to send her over the edge but Tracy had other plans.  Flipping her over, holding her legs back, Tracy started licking her again.  This time her focus was solely on her clit, she was going to bring her to orgasm with the flicking motion of her tongue.  Karen grabbed Tracy’s head and held it close as she sputtered profanities and practically screamed how good it felt.

Just as Karen was about to reach her special moment, Tracy stopped.  She climbed up Karen’s body and kissed her again, letting her taste her own juices.  Karen sucked her tongue feverishly.  She felt out of control.  She was caressing Tracy’s body now, begging for release.  She felt uninhibited, unrestrained by the fears and apprehensions she previously possessed.  Then, there, it was about feeling good, nothing more, nothing less.  She held up her tits to her friend.  “Here, suck them.”  It was a symbolic gesture, symbolizing a closeness and a bond that the two friends shared.  It was representative of giving her sexuality to a woman in a way that most would never share.

Tracy needed no further encouragement and lowered her mouth to the hardened nipples.  Softly, she sucked.  It wasn’t about her pleasure, it was about the intimacy, connection, and passion between the two friends.  As her mouth filled with the sweet, warm liquid, she heard Karen’s gentle moans.  Her own pussy was flowing freely now as her friend humped her thigh against her mound.  She slid her fingers inside Karen again, this time, intending to give her an earth-shattering orgasm.  At this point, Karen was so wet, the entire room was filled with the sounds of her being finger fucked.

Both women were moaning, groaning, chanting, cursing.  At the last minute, Tracy slid her body around and placed her pussy against Karen’s.  It was soft and wet and unlike anything Karen had ever felt before.  They fucked each other.  They rubbed their clits against one another, pink against pink, holding on to each other for dear life until they both felt the waves of impending pleasure overtake them.

Karen slid out of bed in the early morning hours.  She needed to get home to the kids before they started moving around.  She softly kissed Tracy goodbye and whispered that she would call her later that afternoon.  Tracy’s heart dropped.  She felt terrible about breaking her own rule.  Karen comforted her as best she could under the circumstances, assured her that their friendship was important and she was unwilling to let it go.  Tracy wasn’t sure exactly what the future held for their friendship but she willing to face the consequences, come what may.

Copyright 2011 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

Fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

My apologies to all the real spoken word artists who really know how to put it down.  I am not a poet.  This was my feeble attempt to just write about how certain songs made me feel, the memories that come flooding back when I hear certain tunes.

As much as I wanted to dive in and devour her pussy, I wanted to make it an experience that she would never forget.  I took my fingers and gently spread her lips and started to gently lick on her exposed clit.  She responded by grinding her pussy on my face, trying to get me to suck it harder.  I put my fingers at the entrance to her pussy and she started grinding her hips trying to get me to finger her.  “Damn you, stop being such a tease, finger me.  Finger me the way I need you to.”  The calm, reserved woman that I had secretly lusted after for months was now a primal beast in my bed.  I reached down between my legs to stimulate my own needy clit but I couldn’t get too distracted.  This vision of sensuality was lying in front of me and driving me crazy with desire.

Robert was stroking himself, crazy with lust.  Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, couldn’t get any hotter, he felt the tender caress of soft lips against his own.  Almost at the same time, a set of lips began sucking his erection.  Tammy was sharing her man out of love, out of connection and there was no jealousy or competition to be found between the three of them.

The remainder of the three days were spent making, erotic, exotic love; Robert, Tammy and Kia.  It was a stepping stone for the couple, a portal through which they traveled in order to become closer.  There were no regrets to be had.  Back in the States, they would consummate their combined lives with renewed vigor and the knowledge that they could look forward to the next major milestone in their relationship with eager anticipation.

Tricks are NOT just for kids.  Sometimes, when adults play, it’s not about competition, it’s about pure, unadulterated hedonism.  Join me for the latest Podcast where we explore the art of seduction.  Gentlemen, take notes on how your lady wants to be treated.  Go the extra mile, spoil her.  You certainly won’t be disappointed you put in all the effort.  Ladies, don’t let too much time go by without treating your man to an extra special evening as well.  Why not tell him that you want to re-enact this erotic Podcast while you listen to it, role-playing the action in real life as you listen to it together?  If you don’t have a partner, take this opportunity to indulge yourself in a little self pleasure.  Whatever way you decide to participate, enjoy yourself on this sensual audio erotik experience.

Is love something that grows over time or can you experience true and abiding love instantly? Is love all romance and cheesy songs or can love be fostered amidst contention? In a day and time when people look for instant gratification and put their own needs above everyone else’s feelings, can true love really grow? These are important questions that must be asked in an effort to redefine the formula for a healthy relationship. There’s a fine line between trusting your instincts and making an uninformed choice. Take the AfroerotiK audio journey and experience how scorching hot passion can be born from the right mix of trust and vulnerability.