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Ten things
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Jul 22, 2005 7:19 am
1792 Views
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Ten things I love about Black men
I love when he laughs uncontrollably and his eyes light up like a child.
I love when he tries his best to solve my problems for me, threatens to beat somebody up when they have hurt me, and walks on the outside of the street, just to protect me.
I love when he calls me four times a day just to tell me he is thinking about me.
I love when I wake up in the middle of the night and his beautiful brown skin is all I see.
I love when he encourages me to be the best I can be, because he sees my vision and will do anything to help me achieve it.
I love the taste of his neck after he has played a game of ball with his boys and sweat till his skin is smooth and slippery.
I love it when we talk, really talk. Not just at one another but really to one another. When he listens to my point of view and understands me. When he tells me his secrets and knows that I will not betray them.
I love when I see him raising his children, combing his daughters hair, teaching his son to really love Black women, not just their genitals.
When we get ready to go out for a date, and he gets all dressed up, and just when he is standing in front of the mirror, admiring his fine brown frame, I say forget it honey, tonight we stay in.
I love it when he gives me that long, hard, hot, wet, sticky, Black loves that glows in the candlelight and makes me cry out in ecstasy.
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Feminization Fantasy
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Jul 13, 2005 9:49 pm
2163 Views
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I've been an atypical domme for many years now. Atypical in that I don't need submissives to make me feel superior. My domination is purely psychological. I can't even conceive of a submissives pleasure being tantamount to mine. As a Black woman who is also a domme, I'm painfully aware that most Black women don't see themselves as superior even if its a role they play sexually. That is not the case with me.
I came to understanding my place in this universe as a domme as a culmination of events and circumstances that shaped my identity. The very nature of my intellect has set me apart from most people all my life. I give credit to the fact that my biological father has a
genius IQ and I was raised by my grandparents; my grandfather being one of the most brilliant men that I've had the occasion to ever meet, bar none, and my grandmother being one of the most creative and loving human beings to grace the earth. Those factors, along with God's graces, has set me apart from most people since I was a child. My thought processes and brain functions formed differently so I reason and think differently than most. I was also raised by dynamic and courageous civil rights leaders so my activism and consciousness is, if not genetically than certainly through osmosis, inherited. Save the cameras and publicity, my grandparents were the equivalent of Martin Luther and Corretta Scott King. That's my legacy. From the very womb I was destined to create social change, educate and enlighten, lift the consciousness of African Americans and to break the chains of mental slavery.
I spent most of my young adult life behaving in average and typical ways. Just like the masses, I reacted to my own subconscious programming, behaved dysfunctionally, only to justify my behaviors and criticize everyone else's. I was not particularly introspective or enlightened. I had mediocre existence down to a science. Then I hit bottom. I was married and found out that my husband was cheating on me, had a different woman pregnant, and I had just lost my job. I went into a depression the likes of which made me suicidal. At the moment after I had decided to end it all I saw a vision of my life and what I was supposed to do. From that very moment I've been on this amazing path that has led me to understanding concepts that I my mind couldn't even comprehend of ten years ago, of spiritual revelations that could be considered nothing less than directly from God, and a single-minded mission in life.
I wasn't intending to go off on that tangent but I've learned not to edit my thoughts anymore. I said all of that to say that when I came to a place of accepting my dominance as a divine gift I struggled with it. I initially dominated only Black men. It happened by accident that I happened into the world of Dominance and Submission. I met a man that asked me out and blew me off. His apology took the form of humiliating himself in public, literally getting on his knees and kissing my ass in the middle of downtown Atlanta at 3:00 in the afternoon. I wasnt aroused by it at all but I was fascinated by the motivations behind it. I couldn't figure out why he got sexual arousal from me calling him names. The worse I treated him, the more aroused he got. As any academician would do, I began to read up on it, study it. Then, the universe saw fit to send submissive me to me every time I turned the corner. I learned that I was a psychological domme, I get off on twisting people's fears into their fantasies. I'm not into inflicting pain, I'm not into irrational outbursts for minor infractions, I'm not into wearing leather and incessant compliments to make me feel superior. I don't need anyone to clean my house or do errand for me and I sure as hell don't need anyone to eat my pussy. I like finding out what people don't want and making them want that very thing so much it becomes an obsession. I used to be a sadistic domme in the sense that I would get people to crave exactly what it was that they would say that they would never do and then throw them away like trash. If a guy said to me he would do anything I asked EXCEPT do something with another guy, I would take him to a place where he was craving dick like he needed it to live. I didn't have to make him do it, just crave it.
At some point I went from dominating black men to white men almost exclusively. I get a huge rush of satisfaction seeing white men realize that I'm truly superior, not just some tool for their sexual pleasure. There is a look that they get, a state of confusion they have when their reality comes crashing down on them. For all of their cries about how much they believe in Black Female Supremacy, its all just a lot of rhetoric. In their hearts, they have an inherent belief that they are really superior and when you get to that point when you fuck with that belief system, they scream and yell and call me all sorts of bitches. The brain stops functioning when you push it past a certain place of understanding. It's the reason when you are engaged in an calm discussion with someone the conversation quickly reverts to yelling and screaming and other such emotional outbursts when you say something that they can't comprehend. Damn, I love studying psychology.
During my more psychologically sadistic days, I used to have fantasies of taking men and making them into women. I was reminded recently of that place in my life. It was quite an elaborate fantasy. I would take a submissive that had desires to be fucked, which I think represents vagina envy to a great extent, but was really afraid to explore the concept and I would make them into a woman. The fantasy didn't work for me if they wanted to become a woman, only if they had feminine desires that they weren't willing to articulate. Not just a cross dresser or a feminine man. I would make him into a woman. I would isolate him from his family, change his name, go through the hormone process, teach him how to walk, think, dress, and behave like a woman. Sometimes in my fantasies, I would make them into sluts, well more like gangbang whores. Other times, I would make them into mirror images of me, sophisticated and sensual elegant women. I remember specifically fantasizing about making them wear my used tampons when I was on my period so we would have our cycle together. It wasn't a sexual fantasy but I got sexual pleasure from fantasizing that once I got them to this place, when they had been completely transformed, I would throw them away. I would get them dependent on me and be the only person that understood their desires and where they had come from and kick them out so that they would feel lost and alone. I became aroused at the concept that I was the one person in the world that held the key to their identity and then I would throw them away like dirty toilet paper.
I haven't had those thoughts for a great number of years. I had almost forgotten about them. Funny how certain things can trigger such strong memories.
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Faking it
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Jul 13, 2005 9:40 pm
1581 Views
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I didn't have an orgasm until I was 26 years old and I didn't realize that I hadn't had one. For the first 10 years of my sexual life, I faked every "orgasm" I ever had and I didn't even realize it. I would have sworn, and I did, that I was multi orgasmic, that my man could make me cum hard, that I had the big O every time I had sex. I BELIEVED in my heart that I was having orgasms. Even after I had my first orgasm, I continued to fake orgasm, not because my lover wasn't pleasing me, but because I was so conditioned to do it. Somewhere deep inside me was this need to make him feel like he was "Superlover" and the more I moaned and responded, the better it made him feel. And because I've always been a talker, always been aroused by words, the more I talk, the more I moan, the more I build up this feverish level of arousal, the less likely I am to say, mmmmmmmm, that was great but I didn't reach my special moment.
I was conditioned to fake an orgasm from my socialization process. There wasn't anything implicit that was said to me, there was no "you need to make a man feel good so do XYZ," conversation that was had. I'm sure it was a combination of subtle messages I got from my mother who was the Codependency Queen and the porn I read when I was a child that objectified women.
To this day, I still fake orgasms out of habit. I've faked orgasms with every lover I've ever had. That's not to say that I've never had an orgasm with a lover, I have. But most times, I am in this highly aroused state, I'm not thinking, this doesn't feel good, let me fake it to get him off. Usually, I'm in the moment, I'm breathing hard, he's licking my clit and even if is doesn't make me see fireworks, I have a routine where I go from a slow boil to raging flame. It's not a conscious thing, its conditioning and habit.
I've tried to stop doing it because I want to honor my sexuality. I know how to cum, I know what makes me cum with a man, I know how to make myself cum. After I've had sex and faked it out of habit, I feel like I've disappointed myself and my lover. I've disappointed him because I've denied him the right to see me when I really cum, which is quite spectacular when I'm with a partner. When I'm by myself, I can cum and not miss a beat, twenty seconds later I can be washing the dishes.
Women come with equipment that needs a manual, men can have OJT and figure out how their stuff works. If woman doesn't know how to make herself cum, I can only imagine, it's purely speculation but I'm sure it has some foundation in truth, that she has never had an orgasm. I also suspect that the younger generation of women that have grown up on pornos have no clue how to have a real orgasm other than a lot of moaning and yelling. It takes a woman that is unbelievable aware of her body and how it works to be multi orgasmic. Little girls aren't taught to honor their vaginas, I find it almost impossible to believe that a woman is having multiple orgasms with every man she has sex with, or having an orgasm when you feel your man ejaculating inside you.
Mind you, my first boyfriend and my ex-husband would SWEAR up and down that they made me cum until I passed out. Both of them were exceptional lovers. Oh shit, they were incredible lovers. That doesn't change the fact that they never made me cum. And while I was with them, I would have sworn up and down, I believed in my heart, nothing anyone could have said could have convinced me that I hadn't had an orgasm each and every time I was with them. Until one day I was laying on my sofa with a vibrator and I had this sensation. . . like nothing I've ever felt before. It was like drug. I was in my thirties before I experienced that with another person. Come to find out, my "spot" is not where most women's spots are. Mine spot is located exactly where a man's prostate would be. Licking on Sally is all good and it feels wonderful but unless you are fingering that spot and licking, you could be down there all day long and never make me cum. And unless your dick is curved to hit that spot, you can bang till the cows come home and never make me cum. Granted, it will feel damn good. But make me cum? Nope. The intimacy, the bonding, the physical pleasure of sex all makes me feel incredibly good. Does it make me have an orgasm? No!
I respect the women that can say that they've never had an orgasm. Usually, I doubt the claims of women that claim to be multiorgasmic unless they can recount some sort of similar revelation or epiphany whereby they say they grew into their orgasmic selves. Otherwise, I usually look at women who claim to be so orgasmic as women who were much like myself back in the day, CONVINCED that they are having orgasms because of social conditioning, not because of the actual experience.
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Communication, Romance and Intimacy
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Jul 11, 2005 8:06 pm
1360 Views
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If communication is the recipe for a healthy relationship, romance and intimacy are the key ingredients. For most men, the concept of genuine, truthful communication in a relationship is an alien concept, let alone understanding the concepts of romance and intimacy. For most men, the idea of romance is equated to game or trying to get a woman into bed and the concept of genuine honesty is incomprehensible to many. Men have been convinced that crying, a natural, healthy, biological release of emotion makes a man weak. Reality check. If men werent supposed to cry, they would not have tear ducts. Crying is as natural as sneezing, it is necessary to help an individual process emotion, yet we have an entire population of men that think that shedding a tear means an individual less than a man. Black men in particular have been socialized for generations to deny their feelings and never taught to process or share those feelings with another person. To have feelings is to be considered weak or gay. When we look at all the false perceptions that are in place to keep men from being fully functioning, emotionally mature human beings its no wonder that the state of Black relationships is in such peril.
Being someone that has dedicated her life to showing Black sexuality in a healthy light, men often come to me to share their desires, secrets and fantasies when they have wives, girlfriends, and lovers that should be that confidant. Day in and day out, brothas come to me and share with me, a total stranger, their most intimate desires. They always seem to preface it by saying, My wife would never understand . . . News flash, your wife should be the first person you go to share your feelings and if shes not, you need to re-examine your relationship and take the steps necessary to make that so. Your wife is your partner and your mate, if you dont have a relationship where you can be open and honest with her, theres something drastically wrong with that. Lets assume that you married a woman with whom you share common ideologies, goals, and beliefs. If all of those things are in place, then you have the makings of fantastic communication and all that needs to be done is learning how to open up and share with your partner your thoughts.
The number one fantasy that Black men come to me and share as their secret desire is to be submissive to a (in most cases, Black) woman. We must be cautious how we use the term submissive in this particular case because mainstream society would lead us to believe that being submissive means being beaten and whipped and assuming an inferior position in some sadomasochistic exchange. While in some cases, that may be the desire, more often than not they mean that they want to put aside their satisfaction for that of their partner. Unfortunately, the term submissive is the closest term Black men have to describe their fantasies of catering to a womans needs. I hear it time and time again, I want to satisfy my woman . . . her pleasure is more important than mine . . . I want to do whatever it takes to make her cum until she passes out. Society would have us believe that a Black man is supposed to kill it to use his dick as a weapon and that pleasing a woman is of no concern. Imagine Jay-Z making a where he says that he gave a woman pleasure without concern for his own. Thats not going to happen in this lifetime because Black men have to live up to the stereotype that women are for their pleasure, not the other way around. Again, the absurdity of the concept and the extent to which we as a people hold on to it is causing us to perish.
When Black men approach me about their fantasies, they tend to be somewhat forthcoming with the details. Conversely, when I approach Black men about their fantasies their responses tend to be either, I dont have any fantasies, or, I have done everything that I want to do, I prefer the real thing. When they do admit to a fantasy its the standard threesome scenario. Black men arent adept at expressing their fantasies or allowing themselves to creatively explore their sexuality. Its only after intense and directed questioning that they can admit to having other fantasies. Conversely, white men tend to be able to describe in great detail their fantasies and have very involved and complex scenarios. Fantasies are a natural, normal part of our existence and allow us to experience different realities in a safe way. Going out and engaging in unhealthy behaviors rather than learning to express healthy fantasies is dysfunctional. Not being comfortable enough to share ones fantasies with ones partner and then going out to explore those fantasies as a reality with someone outside ones relationship is unhealthy. We must, as a people, reexamine the guidelines that are keeping us dysfunctional.
There seems to be a tremendous difficulty in men understanding that women crave romance and intimacy, a reluctance to embrace any personal responsibility in creating romance and intimacy in their relationship and even a difficulty understanding those terms. There is a belief that men seem to have that is reinforced by a society that says that women have to do the work to keep a man, not the other way around. Men, understand this if you understand nothing else I say. If you want peace in your relationship, if you want your woman to treat you like a king, then the single-most easiest way to do that is to treat her like a queen. For every one step you make to make a woman feel special, she will take ten in return to make you feel special. Surprise her with a small token that lets her know you are thinking of her, that she crosses your mind during the day. It neednt be something extravagant or expensive. There are more things than just flowers, candy, or a designer purse that you can give that will show her that you care. Sadly, men dont seem to understand the erotic potential and possibilities of anything other than material gifts as indications of romance have been conditioned to, thus they are limited in their creativity and expression.
I would be remiss if I didnt discuss Black womens responsibility in fostering healthy communication and intimacy in relationships. Sadly, there are a great many women that will judge and condemn a man for sharing his thoughts and fantasies with her, no matter the level of honesty or intimacy he is showing. Weve been conditioned to either view any expression of sexuality outside of missionary sex as vulgar, or conversely, we view sexuality as a tool of manipulation, source of income, or as recreation. As Black women, weve also been socialized to narrowly define manhood and equate it with sexual prowess and earning potential, not realizing that emotional depth and intimacy are things that men are capable of giving. We must be held accountable for our false perceptions and debilitating belief systems but the change must be partnered with Black men in an effort to grow together.
Getting a woman to be receptive to your fantasies is not as difficult as one might think. Increasing communication, romance and intimacy in your relationship is not an impossible task. The most effective way to introduce your fantasies to your partner is to get her to a heightened state of arousal and subtly introduce the new concept to her. She will be more receptive to any new ideas that are initiated during that time. Getting her to a heightened state of arousal takes work on your part. It means that you must be willing to ask questions about what arouses her, to set aside everything that youve learned about what turns a woman on, and set aside your preferences for the things that turn you on. The benefits will be amazing and you will lay the foundation for a partnership with outstanding potential.
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Dyke D/s
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Jul 9, 2005 6:02 am
1564 Views
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The pain in her nipples from the clamps applied there served as a constant reminder to keep her aware of her submissive role. The beautiful Goddess towered above her kneeling form. The heat across her ass from the previous spanking she had received radiated, throbbed and warmed her desires. There was something all too erotic about her need to submit to a Black woman. She could have her pick of white men to play with and the thought of submitting to a white woman left her cold and empty. Submitting to a strict and stern Black woman, however, kept her mouth watering, her pussy dripping wet, her clit engorged and her asshole twitching, waiting to be forcefully taken if need be.
She loved the rich beautiful skin of Black women, the fullness of their bodies, their confidence and unquestionable ability to make her feel like a veritable slut.
She felt her hair being pulled back forcefully as she awaited the gift of her Mistresses swollen, wet Black cunt lowered to her waiting mouth. She could smell the heady scent of Black pussy and her tongue reached out to taste it. The chain on her nipples clamps was pulled at the same moment, causing her to cry out in pain but the sensation of licking that exquisite black pussy and being under its hypnotic power drove her to the edge of orgasm.
Copyright 2004 AfroerotiK
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Face sitting
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Jul 9, 2005 5:57 am
1569 Views
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He hovered somewhere between consciousness and ecstasy. His senses were deprived and he was overwhelmed with the sensation of wanting to gasp for air along with the intense feelings in his throbbing cock. She had lowered her full weight on him and was making herself comfortable for a long ride. And what a ride it was. Her full ebony ass shielded his vision and her full frame prevented much movement on his part.
The slippery folds of her pussy coated his face with juices as his tongue and jaw ached from trying his best to pleasure his Nubian goddess and give her pleasure. She masturbated herself back and forth at times, rubbing his nose from clit to asshole; the sexy scent of her cunt a stark contrast to the musky aroma of her ass hole. He loved it; he loved every second of sweet torture.
Occasionally, she would raise herself up to give him a brief second of reprieve. For that instant, his eyes would be flooded with light, he would gasp for air like a man drowning and he would feel the cool air revive him. But rather than being the sensation he craved, he longed to feel the warmth and security of the weight of his beautiful Black Mistress as he teetered near the edge of suffocation and orgasm. She taunted him, teased him, asking him if he could take more. She humiliated and degraded him. Look at your pathetic cock, jerking wildly, knowing that the last breath you take could be getting me off. Make me cum white boy. Make me cum and I just may let you cum . . . and live.
She began bouncing up and down, aroused by the idea of having that much control over another human being. Aroused that she could slap and twist the worthless submissives balls to no end and know that he just wanted more and more pain, or was it pleasure?
His ears covered by her legs, he could barely hear her moans but he knew that she was about to cum. He sensed the muscles in her legs tighten up and she was more aggressive with her gyrations. He was going to be crushed. The only thing that kept him alive was the fact that she was stroking his cock, twisting it, slapping it, and masturbating him to orgasm.
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Essential Definitions
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Jul 8, 2005 5:14 am
1567 Views
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Ebony - Wood of several species of trees of the genus Diospyros (family Ebenaceae), found widely in the tropics. The best is very heavy, almost black, and from heartwood only. Because of its color, durability, hardness, and ability to take a high polish, ebony is used for cabinetwork and inlaying, piano keys, knife handles, and turned articles.
Ivory - (I thought everyone knew the definition but I've been shocked by the number of people that had no clue) Hard white substance that makes up the tusks of such animals as elephants, walruses, and preserved mammoths. It is prized for its beauty, durability, and suitability for carving. In ancient times it was treasured as highly as gold and precious stones. Most ivory used commercially once came from Africa; sales of ivory declined in the 20th century as the populations of African elephants shrank, and worldwide concern about endangered elephant populations have led to bans on the export and import of ivory.
Nubian - (The most used word that people have NO clue as to its meaning.) There is no modern location called Nubia. The area known by this term lies today partly in Egypt and partly in the Republic of the Sudan. A large portion of the northern part of ancient Nubia currently lies submerged under the reservoir formed behind Egypt's High Dam at Aswan. Nubia is the homeland of Africa's earliest black culture with a history which can be traced from 3100 BC onward through Nubian monuments and artifacts. More than fifty ancient pyramids and royal tombs rise out of the desert sands in Nubia. The people of Nubia are referred to as Nubians. Sistas, when men approach you and call you a beautiful Nubian queen, ask them to name one. Don't just be complacent and let it slide.
Chocolate - Chocolate is food prepared from ground roasted cacao beans. It is consumed as candy, used to make beverages, and added as a flavoring or coating for confections and baked products. I am a Black woman. As a Black woman, I am far more complex than a simple confectionary treat. I have a personality, identity and history that make me a Black woman. For that reason, I don't want to be called chocolate. Chocolate is NOT a race and I'm too proud of mine to tolerate someone calling me a food and thinking it's cute or innocent. If you want my affection, call me what I am.
Colored - (I can't get over how many times people still use this term) The term colored was used as recently as the 60s to denote Black people. Every person has color so it's not only an inaccurate description but its origins were racist and meant to be demeaning. "Person of color" is more accurate when describing the 90% of the world's population that is not Caucasian.
Afro - (As in Afro-American) Afro was a term that coined after slavery because Black people didn't want to be associated with Africa, they had been indoctrinated to think that anything African was wrong and bad. There is no Afroland, no Afro language, there is no race of Afro people, and thus it should not be used to identify anyone's ethnicity or nationality. An Afro is a hairstyle and Africa is a continent, not a country. African Americans are an amalgamation of many African ethnicities that were kidnapped from Africa, crossbred like livestock, and raised to disassociate themselves with any traditional cultural identifiers.
Negro - Spanish for Black. The first European enslavers were Portuguese, in 1444, and it was used to identify Africans. Again, there is not Negroland, no Negro language and thus is inaccurate in defining a people. English speaking enslavers adopted the word Negro to nigger to the derogatory and offensive meaning dark skinned people of Africa that were something less than human, vile, and repugnant.
Language has power, be careful how you use it. Ignorance is not bliss.
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Uhmm, isn't that racist?
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Jul 8, 2005 5:08 am
2024 Views
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Time and time again, I have white men tell me that they aren't racist because they are attracted to black women. But, in the same breath, they are afraid to meet me in public in a place where people that know them might see them. Uhmm, isn't that racist?
I've had white men tell me that they want to be with a black woman to see if our pussies taste different. Number one, I'm not a scratch and sniff experiment, I'm a human being. There is absolutely nothing different about my physical make up other than the presence of melanin. My blood is the same, my tears, are the same, my piss is the same, and my pussy is the same. If theres a difference in my taste its because Im an individual and EVERYONE is going to have a different taste. If a person thinks a Black woman's pussy tastes different just because of the color of their skin, uhmm, isn't that racist? .
I had a white man tell me the other day that his wife had a black lover and he would be forced to pay the black man to service him orally and how he felt that was the ultimate humiliation. He professed that he wasn't racist and how he thought that Blacks were superior. When asked how he thought Blacks were superior, he listed physical characteristics. Check it, if he thought blacks were truly superior, he would not feel it was humiliating to give a Black man money. I asked him some of the Black people that he thought were intellectually superior and he said me and Condoleezza Rice. First and foremost, there should NEVER be an occasion where Condi Rice and I are compared on the same scale. She is the anti-Christ and I denounce her as a black woman. Second, it's obvious he had no clue about my intellect; he was enamored with my physicality.
I can't tell you how many times I've had white men tell me, "Oh, I wish I was a black man." When asked why, the number one reason, "They have such big cocks." Okay dumbass, you think being a black man is all about fucking white women with your 11 inch dick? You don't see the correlation between black men and the prison population, Driving While Black, the inordinately high Black on Black crime. No, you don't want to be a Black man; you want to have white privilege, a big dick and have white women throwing themselves at you. White men that say that stupid shit inevitable say, "I don't have a racist bone in my body anymore. Not since I started watching interracial porn (or fill in the blank with a similar sexual experience, as if sex orgasm while looking at a black person have sex cures diseased perceptions)." What the fuck? Say it with me . . . Uhmm, isn't that racist?
My favorite? White man approaches me and tells me how submissive he is to black women. I tell him Im not interested in a submissive at this time, white, black, or other. They tell me that they can (fill in the blank with a degrading and humiliating act, usually eating my waste and drinking my piss) and refuses to accept that Im not interested in him. Next thing out of his mouth . . . N&*%$ BITCH.
Since when did racists get to identify when they aren't racist anymore? Who is defining racism? Is racism just an overt hatred of black people or is it white men looking at me in amazement when I tell them I'm pursuing my PhD and them telling me that I'm a credit to my race? Like for my next trick, I'm going to pull a rabbit out of my hat. Where is sthe white sub that has read one book about slavery, Black history, Black culture, or one that tried to delve into the reasons for oppression and bigotry? No, was in a heightened state of arousal and figured out that Black women could be as sexually arousing as white women. Big shit! That doesn't mean he's going to fight for Black children to get a fair education, that he's going to battle discrimination in housing and employment whenever he sees it. He's not even going to tell his buddies at the office that he's attracted to Black women. That's racist.
Its more than obvious that Black people arent capable of determining whats racist or not because we are the ones that think the N word is a term of affection, that think its cute to refer to ourselves as bitches, freaks, thugs, and pimps. Those who dont use that terminology turn a blind eye and a deaf ear when its used. There are far too many black men that think its a compliment to be called a bull and to try to impregnate white women for fun. FAR, FAR, FAR too many black women think that our beauty is in our behinds, fingernails, or length or our hair and give no credence to developing whats inside us.
Ive officially lost hope. Fucked up beliefs are being accepted as normal and even being touted as great accomplishments in race relations. Wheres Armageddon when you need it?
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Spice
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Jul 8, 2005 5:03 am
1417 Views
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It was with some frequency that James Hartman returned to his old stomping grounds in the ATL for job related responsibilities. Atlanta held many memories for James, good times, pleasant reflections and melancholy longings. It was a trip he always took with much anticipation because it presented itself with the hope of exploring his deepest, darkest, most perverted desires. James had a dark side that hadnt had an outlet for quite some time. On this particular trip, wanting to step up the pace a little, he contacted an old girlfriend that knew of his proclivities and invited her out to dinner. Jessica was a sweet woman, not nearly as exacting in her ability to push James buttons as he preferred but her company was better than spending time alone in a hotel room.
You see, James was, by his very nature, a lowly and pathetic submissive. He longed for a woman to help him realize his true temperament, to bring out the filthy and untouched needs he harbored deep inside. He craved a strong and commanding Black woman to reduce him to what he knew he was inside, a worthless and pitiful excuse for a man. His job, his public persona was all a façade. James was, at his very core, a piece of shit and his entire life existed either trying to keep people from finding out that fact or longing to realize it in a way that allowed him a freedom hed never known.
Dinner was to be at Spice on Juniper. It was one of the better restaurants in Midtown but money wasnt really that much of an issue because everything could be expensed. Jessica was to meet him at 8, and with any luck, she would head back to James hotel with him to explore some of his desires. Running late, he called her on her cell to let her know that she should get a table and order a drink and appetizers because business was going to put him about 20 minutes behind schedule. By the time he got to the restaurant, appetizers were being served.
Jessica looked lovely and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He sat down and ordered a drink and started looking at the menu. As he settled into his seat to relax and enjoy his date for the evening, he glanced around to take in his surroundings and get a feel for the place. He froze. There, in the restaurant, was the one individual that had haunted James dreams and fantasies for years.
There are people that come into your life that make a lasting impression. Roberta Wonder was the woman that James just could not shake from his consciousness. She was the quintessential Ebony Domme that had tormented his dreams and fantasies for years; he was unable to rid himself of her influence on his very being. She had done things to him that made him question reality, that had pushed him past boundaries that no one else had come close to discovering. He belonged to her in many ways, even though she despised him on many levels. It was, however, her callous disregard for him that fueled his undying love and his yearning to prove himself worthy of her attention.
She was breathtaking, completely unaware that James was there. She was dressed to perfection and engaged in a deep conversation with her date, an attractive Black man that looked like he was basking in the glow of her company. The two seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the place, mesmerizing people with their fluidity and unspoken sexual chemistry. Her date made no attempts to hide his hands caressing her long, smooth legs beneath the table and she seemed to be aware that they were putting on a show for onlookers as she played up to that fact. It was like watching a movie that James couldnt take his eyes off of.
Sensing the energy of someone staring her down, Roberta turned and made eye contact with James. It was as if she looked right through him, her eyes holding his gaze like a hypnotic trance. Jessica, sensing James distraction, tapped him on the shoulder and asked how he knew the couple. He fumbled for words and tried to direct his attention back to Jessica but she would never compare to the utter devotion he felt for Roberta. He made small talk, continuously glancing back, wondering if she was noticing him.
Wanting to assert himself and draw the attention of Roberta, needing her approval, he began mirroring the actions of her male companion. He pulled Jessica close and began showing very public signs of affection. It was more than apparent that they didnt have the same commanding presence or chemistry of Roberta and her date but he was desperate to assert himself in some way. He knew not to approach her, he had been warned for years to leave her alone but there was something in him that was desperate for her acknowledgement. If he had been a peacock, he would have been showing his feathers and prancing around in an effort to get the attention of the female hen. His movements were vulgar however; they looked obscene rather than sensual, offensive rather than compelling. Jessica, while attractive, looked pale and trashy compared the deep sensual persona that Roberta exuded.
It never ceases to amaze me how utterly contemptible I find your presence. You have the unique ability to make my flesh crawl from across the room. James, startled by the words, turned to see Roberta towering above him. He rose and greeted her with a kiss to the cheek like she had said, Ive missed you so much. The look on Jessicas face was one of horror. It was more than apparent Roberta was amused by the disruption she had caused.
How have you been? he asked, sitting and making introductions between the ladies as cordially as he could, trying to hide the fact that her abrasive comments aroused him in a place that he didnt understand himself. Roberta gestured to her date across the room and he waved back and she introduced him as Terrance, her significant other. He nodded back with a look that made James cringe. He feared that she had told him every detail of his dirty little secrets, that every nuance of his sick desires had been revealed. James swallowed hard and nodded, feeling emasculated somehow by the fact that he had always craved being the man in Robertas life and seeing evidence that he couldnt measure up in any way. Terrance was smooth, refined, and sophisticated and it showed in the way he held his wine glass, the way his stylish clothes fit what was obviously a sculpted body. There was no doubt about the fact that Terrance was Robertas equal in every sense of the word and he hadnt even opened his mouth.
Before there could even be any discussion or catching up on any details, the waiter brought the food they had ordered. Roberta seemed less concerned with talking to James as she did with Jessica. She sat at the table and turned her back to James and they made pleasant small talk, complimenting each other on shoes and lipstick and such. Im sorry, Ill leave you two to your evening. It has been such a pleasure meeting you Angie. She stood to leave, James rising to be cordial. She turned momentarily and looked James in the eye and spit directly on to his food. James heart sank. Enjoy your meal. With that she turned quietly and walked back to her table.
Jessica was outraged. She started to get loud and draw unwanted attention to the table. James heart sank. He sat and tried to calm her down, to quiet her. Is she crazy . . . are you crazy? The utter confusion on her face was only lessened by the fact that she was outraged that the woman was so casual in her disrespect. James sat at the table a defeated man, staring at the plate, knowing full well that he could not walk away and leave it there or have it returned. It was far too precious a gift and he had to enjoy it. He couldnt even hear Jessicas words, he was in a trance. He kept looking to see if Roberta was watching but she was completely ignoring him, wrapped up in conversation with her lover. He slowly picked up his fork and knife and cut into his steak, carving out the piece of meat that held the most saliva. He closed his eyes and brought the food to his lips and placed it in his mouth. He could detect the taste of her slimy offering more than he could taste the prime cut of beef he held in his mouth. It was better than caviar or lobster; it was the precious and divine spit of the woman he craved.
Jessica was outdone. She had calmed herself down enough to stop drawing attention to herself but she needed answers. She was calling James names, trying to make him be a man, threatening to go slap that black bitch herself, dumbfounded as to why he would eat the food. You see, she wasnt a true domme like Roberta; she had no clue that true domination was done in the mind and Roberta had masterfully exacted her domination without so much as raising her voice.
Just then, the waiter returned and asked if everything was okay. He handed James a bill and said, The lady and gentleman over there have indicated that you are going to be picking up their tab so would you like to settle for them now or wait and have me bring you both your bill and there bill together?
James looked down at his plate in silence. He didnt say a word as he reached for his wallet and his little cock was now raging out of control in his slacks. He looked over at them and they waved back with familiarity and thanks. Jessica was PISSED and demanding answers. This had gone too far; she needed to know why on earth had he just paid for their meal? There was a barrage of unanswered questions as James just sat there, feeble and ashamed.
As they walked towards the front door, Terrances arm holding the small of Robertas back, she stopped and turned back to James table. Ive been thinking that you, Terrance and I should have some fun tonight, you know, for old times sake. Angie dear, it was a pleasure; well have to get together sometime. James, lets go. She took a step back and motioned for James to join them as they left. James eyes glanced back and forth between Roberta and Jessica. Roberta showed no signs of anything on her face other than quite possibly amusement. Jessica was outraged and threatened by the power Roberta possessed, desirous of it.
Now, James, her words were as soft and sensuous as her entire persona and James responded like a person who had been hypnotized. He signaled for the waiter again and whispered that he wanted to pay for their meal now, virtually untouched by either of them. The waiter was taking too long to return and he threw four twenties on the table and stood to leave. He knew without being told that his first test of the evening was to leave Jessica sitting at the table. His knees were shaky and he could faintly hear the curse words that Jessica was spewing but he found himself following Roberta and Terrance out the front door, ten steps behind, like a flunky.
Out in the night air, James breathed deeply. Roberta told him that he was to come with them in their vehicle. The valet brought around a champagne colored Navigator and held the door for Roberta to get in first. James sat in the back while Terrance drove and before he knew it, they were traveling northbound on GA400 towards Alpharetta. They chatted about James like he wasnt even in the car, laughing about how he looked like he wanted to lick every drop of the spit off the food, about how he was so pathetic he didnt even raise a fuss at paying for their meal, they even laughed about how Jessica would probably never speak to him again. James wanted to speak up on his own behalf but he felt like a child, incapable of articulating himself. If only his cock wasnt so hard, if only he wasnt so turned on by the control Roberta had over him by ignoring him.
They pulled into a subdivision with nothing less than million dollar homes. They pulled into the driveway of a huge house and parked the truck in the driveway. Roberta leaned over and gave Terrance a sensual kiss that made James heart drop. He knew that as long as he lived, he would never be the recipient of anything as tender and wonderful as that kiss. Terrance came around and held the door open for her. James was instructed to remove his clothes and place them on the seat. His cock was extremely hard as he longed for the degradation and humiliation only Roberta knew how to administer.
It was Terrances voice that barked the next command. Terrance pushed him up the walkway, causing him to stumble. James felt clumsy and awkward and profoundly humiliated that a man such as Terrance would be able to push him around without so much as a word in retaliation. It was Robertas way of controlling James, making him feel like less than a man.
Inside the house, James was led to a basement and made to stand in a corner. He heard Roberta and Terrance talking but he couldnt make out the words. Without warning, Roberta approached him and said, Its going to be pretty difficult to explain your expense account with charges to your company credit card of plane tickets to Aruba, wouldnt you say? A lump formed in his throat and he couldnt breathe. Roberta was not one to make idle promises; she was letting him know that his job was in jeopardy and she was going to reap the benefits with a well paid vacation. There was no way he could report the credit card lost or stolen, it would be an indication that he would never get the opportunity to serve her again. No matter how remote the possibility, no matter how detrimental to his livelihood, James could not take that chance. Before the interrogation was over, he had given her his PIN number to his personal account and assurances that all of his assets would be under her control. James inquired if that meant that he could now become her full time submissive if he relinquished all of his possession over to her, if he would be allowed to serve her malevolent wishes if he only lived in poverty. Roberta assured him he could have no such assurances and that she might not ever see or speak to him again. Terrance laughed out loud, making note of how funny it would be to see the supposed high powered white executive living on the streets in exchange for one night of domination with Roberta. James began to cry like a baby. He was filled with a shame that was beyond human comprehension. He wanted to run, he wanted to put a stop to everything but he stood in silence and very erect.
He could feel Roberta circling him but she was reticent to touch him. His very presence was repulsive to her. His pasty white skin made her want to wretch and his tiny cock deserved to be kicked and slapped it was so small but she couldnt bring herself to touch it. He could smell her perfume and feel her body heat near him. She made him kneel on the floor and Terrance attached weighted nipple clamps on him. He screamed out as searing pain shot through his entire body. It was just like Roberta to push James past his limits and the humungous weights caused him extraordinary pain, more than he had ever endured before. The fact that he was in more pain than he had ever experienced caused him a sense of pride that he would be able to tolerate it for his ultimate mistress.
Nipple clamps in place, Roberta approached him and whispered sweetly in his ear. I want you to see what a real man looks like. He blinked his eyes to get used to the dimly lit room and he saw Terrance standing before him completely naked. He averted his eyes to the floor quickly, ashamed and afraid to look. He was perfection, a sculpted body with a massive cock sticking straight out. Isnt he lovely, James? A million times better than you, you disgusting piece of shit. James cried openly, saying he wanted to end this game, that he wanted to go home. He knew what his fate was and he was having second and third thoughts about if he could go through with it. If only his little cock wasnt so damned hard, he might have been a little more convincing.
Terrance approached him and stood inches from his face. Roberta moved next to him and stroked him to full hardness. James could smell the manly aromas emanating from him and he swallowed hard. The tip of Terrances cock was only a few centimeters from his lips and he could feel himself breathing hard. James, you are a sissy faggot bitch, arent you? Robertas voice remained syrupy sweet and as smooth as silk, never rising a decibel. His knees were aching and the pain in his nipples was about to cause him to pass out but he uttered a defiant, NO!
The sting from the slap across his face was more excruciating than all of his tortures combined. You pathetic fuck, are you saying that I dont know a dirty little cock sucking faggot when I see one? If she had only displayed some measure of emotion, some detection of hatred in her voice, but her consistent and soothing voice made him melt as he conceded that she was correct. She wasnt content with just an affirmation; she needed him to say the words. Knowing her as well as he did, he knew that his confession would have to be creative and inspired to please her. Mistress, Im a perverted, nasty sissy faggot bitch that loves having real cocks from real men fuck my slutty pussy mouth.
Good boy, as she patted him on the head. James heart practically leapt from his chest being the recipient of Robertas praise. He wanted more humiliation if only it made her proud of him. Show me how you like to suck real cocks. Make me proud by proving that you are a filthy cunt that loves getting your mouth fucked with ten hard inches of real man meat.
James opened his mouth and didnt have to do much. Terrance grabbed the back of his head and forcefully shoved practically the entire thick weapon in his mouth. James gagged and choked but he saw the look of disappointment in Robertas eyes and quickly stepped up to the task. He grabbed his little cock and started stroking it furiously. Roberta grabbed the clamps and pulled on them even harder and James tried to scream out in pain but it only forced Terrances cock deeper in his throat. He was sweating profusely and he felt like he was about to pass out. Terrance began moaning and saying he was about to cum and James sucked that much harder. He wanted to be the best head Terrance would ever get from one of Robertas submissives.
Almost without warning, Roberta pushed James to his hands and knees. He gasped for air as could breathe for the first time. He was babbling incoherently now, chanting and begging for more. Terrance repositioned himself in front of him and this time he dove for that monster cock without prompting, he loved the taste and feel of it and he was going to enjoy his journey into being a filthy cocksucker as long as it pleased his Mistress. As he began sucking it like there was no tomorrow, he felt Robertas hands on his back. He froze for a moment and continued on with his duties. Terrance grabbed his head and forced it all the way down on his cock and held it there tightly, forcing James to breathe through his nose and smell the manly scent of Terrances pubes.
Robertas hands spread his ass cheeks and he felt the head of a dildo pressed against his hole. He tried to scream but Terrance just held him in place like a rag doll. The lubricated head of a strapon rubbed his asshole over and over, sending chills up and down his spine. Tell me what you want, James.
Knowing his role, he began spewing out his desires. I want to be used like a slut. I want to be your sissy faggot bitch. Fuck the shit out of me. Fuck my useless pussy raw, Mistress. Please use me.
No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he felt the searing pain of the head of the dildo penetrate his ass. He was getting fucked in both holes now, being used like hed never been used before. He was sucking that cock like there was no tomorrow and before too long; he was experiencing nothing but pleasure from the strapon in his ass. His body was alive with pleasure. He felt Terrance tense up and start to unload a huge load of cum in his mouth and James realized he could no longer go back to his normal way of existence. His life would no longer be the same. All of his dreams, all of his desires were being realized in that moment. He was being completely used and manipulated by one of the most beautiful, dominant, utterly superior women hed ever had the pleasure to meet. She had reduced him to the unthinkable and he loved it, he craved even more. He was about to explode as he felt Robertas soft thighs pounding against his ass and he realized he didnt deserve that sort of pleasure, he realized that others would pay dearly for the opportunity he was experiencing.
Terrance pulled back and shot load after load of sticky cum on his tongue and James swallowed every drop. He looked up at Roberta as she smiled sweetly down on him. Terrance removed the strapon and fondled Roberta as only a lover could as James watched with jealousy and envy. Roberta instructed James to lie on his back and jerk off that poor excuse for a cock. He did as he was told; not needing much stimulation to get reach and orgasm, his level of arousal was at an all time high. She kicked him gently in the side as he moaned out more from the stimulation than the discomfort as she stepped over his head. She squatted lower and for the first time in his life, James saw the pussy of perfection that had filled his dreams. It was more exquisite than he had imagined and he could smell her sweet essence in the air. He longed to lift his head up and taste her but he knew he would not be allowed. He was stroking his cock and staring up into perfection when he felt the first drops of piss splatter on his face, He moaned out loud and opened his mouth as the delicious golden piss rained down on him. He swallowed hard and jerked off harder. He could hold back no longer and cum shot out of his cock like molten lava.
Some time during the early morning hours, he was kicked out of the home with a brown paper bag that held his clothes; he was naked and smelling of Robertas piss, his balls drained and his body full of Terrances cum. He had no money or credit cards in his wallet and he couldnt call a cab. He had to rely on someone to come pick him up. Hello, Jessica. Im really sorry about last night. I need to ask you a really big favor. . .
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