It was my first time with a black man.
I was a quiet graduate student, buried in the books. He was a visiting professor. I hadn't had a date in months. One evening I went to a lecture at the university, and there he was -- tall, thick, voice as smooth as butter. I got wet just listening to his deep, smooth voice. He was discussing poetry, the Apartheid, what it was like growing up in South Africa. I couldn't help but notice his lips. Black men have such a sensual way of moving their mouths. During the lecture I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting back to his mouth, what it would feel like on my skin, my breasts, between my legs. I imagined him hearing my thoughts and growing rock hard behind the podium.
After the lecture I approached him, told him that I loved his work. Once I was closer to him I could smell his scent, his warm breath. I could feel the power of his hands, just a few feet from me. I have never wanted someone so badly. It was primal, visceral. More than just attraction. I needed him inside me.
I asked him if he'd read some of my work sometime. He agreed, and we exchanged numbers. He mentioned that he was only in town for two nights. I took the hint and asked him what he was doing later. Perhaps we could meet for a *******?
I rushed home to change out of my bookish outfit, and put on a red lacey bra and matching panties. I slipped on white knee-highs and a little white, fuzzy sweater dress. I sprayed on perfume and fluffed my blonde hair. It was October. Chilly. This was so out of character for me, and the thought of doing something so daring excited me beyond belief. I wanted to be someone else for the night -- a character in one of my stories, or a character in one of his future books. I dashed on red lipstick to match my lingerie and called an Uber.
Later, after two glasses of Bordeaux and a lot of intense gazing, talking, me tapping my foot against the bar, crossing my legs, leaning in to breathe his scent as he told me stories about teaching in a New York prison.... he drove me home.
I invited him inside. We barely made it through the doorway before I felt his enormous hands sliding around my waist from both sides, his breath on my neck and his lips grazing my shoulders. He slipped the straps down off my dress, cupping my breasts into his hands like he was turning a sculpture, rubbing, pushing himself against me from behind. I could feel how enormous he was, how solid, how firm and erect with expectation. It was like his cock was a beast that needed to be fed.
Suddenly, he ripped down my panties and spun me around facing him. He pushed me over to the table and laid me down, lowering himself between my legs. His hot breath on my bare skin nearly made me orgasm right then and there. I lay back moaning as he wrapped his tongue around me, lapping my clit over and over, sucking up the juices from between my legs. All I could think about was how badly I wanted his enormous black cock inside me, now. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled him back up to his feet and thrust down his zipper as he lifted off his shirt. His chest and abs rippled with veins, his heartbeat throbbing as he pulled out his giant, luscious black cock and moved it between my legs, its pink head glistening in the light. He gently kissed the tip of his dick against my lips, teasing me. My desperation drove me into a fit.
He slowly worked the head of his enormous cock into me, rubbing my clit with his thumb at the same time. It was electric -- the anticipation of being impaled by a cock so huge and powerful, and the tingle of ******* from his fingers working me into a pre-orgasmic fury. I slowly opened for him as he guided himself into me, sliding and sliding so deep and so far. I moaned so loud, so hard, as his cock touched me in parts of myself I'd never met. I rocked my hips with his body as he thrust in and out, the ridge of his dick sliding inside me, igniting every spot of pleasure, his shaft filling my body completely. He fucked me until I couldn't hold on anymore and came so hard, like an explosion of every tension in my being. As I came, he pumped faster, drawing out the orgasm so long that I lay there shaking, panting, still holding on to the last sparks of pleasure as he released a long moan and came inside me.
He left that night after kissing me on the front porch in the cool air, our bodies still warm from sex. I never saw him again after that. I have sometimes wondered if I imagined it, though I know better. I never contacted him. Part of me wanted him to be the elusive dark figure who changed me, marked me, and then disappeared into the night...
I sometimes awake from a dream, panting and sweating, still feeling his giant black cock pushing inside me, as though he is an invisible ******* who fucks me in my sleep whenever he desires, leaving his warm breath and sweat in the bed all around me.
Maybe he is still out there ...
I was a quiet graduate student, buried in the books. He was a visiting professor. I hadn't had a date in months. One evening I went to a lecture at the university, and there he was -- tall, thick, voice as smooth as butter. I got wet just listening to his deep, smooth voice. He was discussing poetry, the Apartheid, what it was like growing up in South Africa. I couldn't help but notice his lips. Black men have such a sensual way of moving their mouths. During the lecture I tried to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting back to his mouth, what it would feel like on my skin, my breasts, between my legs. I imagined him hearing my thoughts and growing rock hard behind the podium.
After the lecture I approached him, told him that I loved his work. Once I was closer to him I could smell his scent, his warm breath. I could feel the power of his hands, just a few feet from me. I have never wanted someone so badly. It was primal, visceral. More than just attraction. I needed him inside me.
I asked him if he'd read some of my work sometime. He agreed, and we exchanged numbers. He mentioned that he was only in town for two nights. I took the hint and asked him what he was doing later. Perhaps we could meet for a *******?
I rushed home to change out of my bookish outfit, and put on a red lacey bra and matching panties. I slipped on white knee-highs and a little white, fuzzy sweater dress. I sprayed on perfume and fluffed my blonde hair. It was October. Chilly. This was so out of character for me, and the thought of doing something so daring excited me beyond belief. I wanted to be someone else for the night -- a character in one of my stories, or a character in one of his future books. I dashed on red lipstick to match my lingerie and called an Uber.
Later, after two glasses of Bordeaux and a lot of intense gazing, talking, me tapping my foot against the bar, crossing my legs, leaning in to breathe his scent as he told me stories about teaching in a New York prison.... he drove me home.
I invited him inside. We barely made it through the doorway before I felt his enormous hands sliding around my waist from both sides, his breath on my neck and his lips grazing my shoulders. He slipped the straps down off my dress, cupping my breasts into his hands like he was turning a sculpture, rubbing, pushing himself against me from behind. I could feel how enormous he was, how solid, how firm and erect with expectation. It was like his cock was a beast that needed to be fed.
Suddenly, he ripped down my panties and spun me around facing him. He pushed me over to the table and laid me down, lowering himself between my legs. His hot breath on my bare skin nearly made me orgasm right then and there. I lay back moaning as he wrapped his tongue around me, lapping my clit over and over, sucking up the juices from between my legs. All I could think about was how badly I wanted his enormous black cock inside me, now. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled him back up to his feet and thrust down his zipper as he lifted off his shirt. His chest and abs rippled with veins, his heartbeat throbbing as he pulled out his giant, luscious black cock and moved it between my legs, its pink head glistening in the light. He gently kissed the tip of his dick against my lips, teasing me. My desperation drove me into a fit.
He slowly worked the head of his enormous cock into me, rubbing my clit with his thumb at the same time. It was electric -- the anticipation of being impaled by a cock so huge and powerful, and the tingle of ******* from his fingers working me into a pre-orgasmic fury. I slowly opened for him as he guided himself into me, sliding and sliding so deep and so far. I moaned so loud, so hard, as his cock touched me in parts of myself I'd never met. I rocked my hips with his body as he thrust in and out, the ridge of his dick sliding inside me, igniting every spot of pleasure, his shaft filling my body completely. He fucked me until I couldn't hold on anymore and came so hard, like an explosion of every tension in my being. As I came, he pumped faster, drawing out the orgasm so long that I lay there shaking, panting, still holding on to the last sparks of pleasure as he released a long moan and came inside me.
He left that night after kissing me on the front porch in the cool air, our bodies still warm from sex. I never saw him again after that. I have sometimes wondered if I imagined it, though I know better. I never contacted him. Part of me wanted him to be the elusive dark figure who changed me, marked me, and then disappeared into the night...
I sometimes awake from a dream, panting and sweating, still feeling his giant black cock pushing inside me, as though he is an invisible ******* who fucks me in my sleep whenever he desires, leaving his warm breath and sweat in the bed all around me.
Maybe he is still out there ...
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