I awoke with a start when confronted with his face. I lay there for long minutes remembering his features, the lips in particular, not thick like many Black men but almost like a white man’s. His nose was smaller also than most blacks I surmised as I replayed his image in my mind, must have white blood in his line somewhere I guessed.
I found myself again thinking of my mysterious lover until my racing mind finally exhausted itself and I again slept. Only this time in my dreams my mystery man was making slow sweet love to me, his hands trailing over my body as his lips sucked and licked at me driving me to near madness with need. And my hands clasped his weighty manhood, pulling at it with a desperate need to feel it once again within me, filling me with his hot seed. I was begging him to take me to sate the devils that he had instilled within my mind and body from that first day.
But instead he rolled away from me and motioned for someone and to my horror many black men began grabbing my body, holding my thighs open widely and they crawled one after the other between my white thighs and planted their hot seed deep inside me as I screamed at first in terror and then in passionate lust as my body betrayed me once again and my mouth screamed for them to fuck me harder, deeper, more violently as my hips hunched wildly up to their largest and hardest cocks.
He stood and watched as they used my ass, pussy and filled my stomach with their molten juices until all were sated and then he placed his gargantuan cock at my mouth and ordered, “Suck it bitch!” I wanted his cum. Even after all that I still needed to please him, no other mattered. I sucked him with a frenzy, forcing him into my throat as my head twisted and turned, my hands following my head on its travels up and down his thick black shaft. Then with his hands on his hips and his cock out-thrust he said, “Suck it hard slut, eat my ball juice like the white cum slut you are” and I did, I sucked load after huge load of his cum down into my stomach as I pumped it from his cock, my hands squeezing his balls to elicit each hot spurt until empty he withdrew and said, “Till next time slut” and he was gone.
I awoke soaked with perspiration, my heart beating wildly and my pussy felt wettened and I cried. I cried with the realization that I was just a piece of meat to my mysterious black lover, someone to be used and then cast away like a used condom, spent, of no use to anyone once filled with his hot cum. I hated this person I had become but deep inside me I knew I was helpless to overcome the forces that gripped me when in his presence. Somehow he had become my owner and I his slave, a slave that worshipped at the altar of his cock. It was true; his cock was like an African idol that I worshipped, a phallic symbol in my mind of the control it represents over my thoughts and actions.
Every time I see a black man now I feel the pleasure his cock imparted to me and I am drawn to the man, drawn to please him, to service all his bodily needs and desires. My mind seems to fog with the need for every black man to want me as he did that first day. I crave the need I saw in his eyes as his manhood stood proudly, throbbing his desire for me, captivating my every thought with the intenseness of his ache. I have never been wanted so badly by anyone as he seemed to want me that day and watching him spurt his seed in public, unable to constrain his balls I now know the fog of lust that gripped his mind. Somehow the demon that inhabited him had crossed the distance between us and now inhabits my mind also. Now his need is mine and we are tied together for eternity, my life forever altered.
It has been a week since my last outpouring of lust in the coffee shop and I have been too embarrassed to return yet. What do you say to someone that you shared so intimate a time with but can’t even remember her name? Will she expect me to return to the restroom and repeat my performance with her and will I, will the sight of her unleash a torrent of desire in my mind as a black man does now also? I feel a throbbing in my groin each time I remember us in the stall and her upon the counter. I know I want to feel her body again, but not in the stall again, but in my bed. Remembering how I thrilled at the thought of being discovered there with her, the sweet fear adding to our excitement, and in the recesses of my mind I knew I would do it again if given the chance, so I had been avoiding the place lately. I thought maybe if I concentrate on my studies I might return to being the person I was.
C
Leave a Reply