I'll Have a Black Christmas

Finally, I can bear no more. "Please, please," I beg.

Responding, Alec lays me back on the plush carpet, slows his movements, softly kisses my throat and shoulders, still murmuring, "wonderful darlin', marvelous, splendid, beautiful. Thank you. Thank you. Beautiful! So wonderful!"

Finally, easing to a stop, he moves to slip from me, but I restrain him. "Not yet, Alec, please, please stay with me, stay in me, for a while yet."

"Of course I will baby," he says, stroking my face softly, his black hand moving across my pale cheek like a crow's wing against snow.

His cock is obviously large enough to stay within me, even soft, and as my pussy readjusts to its normal size, the presence of his enormous mass becomes more and more obvious. "I have to say," I tell him, " you are the biggest thing I have ever had inside me."

"You mean my cock!"

"Men, always wanting us to talk dirty."

"It's not just talk. Even as kids, we see that little girl in the pretty white dress, we can't help but get mud or chocolate on our hands and dirty that pretty white dress."

"Or that pretty white girl?"

Alec laughs loudly in his deep baritone. "You are my first, but yes, I have to admit. It was there. I mean, you are soo white."

"And you my friend are soo black."

"Yes indeed! That I am. You like the contrast?"

"So far, but I haven't seen the full picture yet."

"Never fear, I have big plans for the rest of the day. By the way, Merry Christmas!"

"Wow, I completely forgot, Merry Christmas!"

I start laughing uproariously.

"What? Tell me, what?"

"I don't know. . .?"

"You can trust me."

"Sure, that's what they all say." "Come on, give, what's so funny?"

" I was thinking how shocked he would be, how right and just it would be."

"Oh, I get it. If your husband, soon to be ex-husband, that is, could see you lying here on the floor with a big black buck between your legs."

"Yup, that's, well it is not quite exactly the right picture, but close. Maybe I'll tell you the rest later."

"So you plan on sticking around?"

"I've no place to go Alec. Could I have that cup of coffee now, please?"

"Sure, no sweat," he says, pulling out of me with a wet sound and rising from the floor.

I watch him walk to the kitchen, stuffing himself back inside and rehooking the catch at the top of his zipper, but leaving his belt hanging open, shirt tail all awry. I rise, almost tripping on my panties. I pull them off and stand for a moment staring at the sodden wrinkled mess, trying to figure out what to do with them. Finally, I go searching for the bathroom. Once there, I search for a laundry hamper, but, finding none, I toss my wet panties in the tub behind the shower curtain, pat down my skirt, redo my blouse, and try to pat my hair into some semblance of order.

"Iris?" his resonant voiced echoes down the hall, "Where are you?"

"I'm here, in the bathroom," I call back. "Be out in a sec." I rummage in the cabinet until I find a large clean towel. Alec meets me in the white living room with coffee.

Before I sit on the pure white sofa, I spread the towel under me. The back of my skirt is soaked and reeks of fluids from inside me. He smiles at me in my embarrassment, saying, "How considerate you are. Thank you. Give me a moment." He disappears for just a moment and returns with two fluffy white bathrobes. "Would you like to get out of those clothes? I for one feel a bit silly, sitting here fully clothed after we. . . er, made love already. Here, let me help you." He kneels in front of me and sends those two large black hands to disrobe me. I watch them move at their task, as if from far overhead. My blouse is quickly removed and dropped on the floor. Those hands go behind me to unhook my bra which soon joins my blouse. Alec pauses to admire my large firm breasts, cupping one in each of his ebony paws. I think I might faint merely from watching those twin black invaders cover my very white skin, if not from his skilled manipulation. He stands and pulls me to him, inserts his thumbs in my waistband and pushes my skirt to the floor. I don't think he expected me to be pantiless underneath. He takes my right hand in his left and places it on the front of his trousers. I can feel his half-hard mass pulsing.

Now it is my turn. I want to draw out the process and have a little fun. I take my time with his shirt buttons, stopping to run both my hands over the wide expanse of his chest, through the tight steel wool curls of his chest hair. I lightly capture his semi sweet nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, sliding my palms over them and down across his tight belly, following the arrow of his dark hair that points to paradise. With one fluid motion I undo his belt and push his tailored slacks and Calvin Klein boxers down past his feet and off. His monster of a cock sways heavily before my face. Its head is the color of black raspberries, peeking out of a foreskin that is smooth and shiny like highly polished leather. I simply cannot resist engulfing as much of him as possible. At first all I can manage is the bulbous head, filling my mouth like a huge black jawbreaker, but at second effort I slide about half of him down my throat, my hands on his tight ebony ass. I suck and lick a few times, then slip off his shoes and rise. "More about that later," I tell him. As I stand, he covers my body with a large fluffy white robe and dons its mate.

We sit together on the sofa, thighs touching, for quite a while, sipping coffee and sharing personal information. I learn that Alec tends bar mostly to meet people. His father had been one of those lucky or smart few who got in and out of the dot com market at exactly the right time. No one in Alec's family will have to work for several generations, if then. I share with him that I am the financial guardian of a large museum endowment. Though we sit in silence, he never takes his eyes from me. Finally, Alec breaks the silence, "What do you want to do now, he asks?

"I don't know," I promptly reply. "You didn't cu. . . er, uh, climax, did you?"

"No, I felt it was still much too early for that. By the way," he says, pointing to a grandfather clock standing nearby, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you Alec. What do you want for Christmas?" I ask playfully, laughing.

"You were well on your way, earlier, to giving me what I would like for Christmas, but you stopped for coffee."

"Speaking of which, I would like a Christmas present from you. Will you give me what I want?"

"Judging from how serious you just became, I think I better equivocate. It depends on what you want."

"Revenge."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want you to come to my house. I want to call Anton ahead of time and ask him to meet me. I want him to walk in. . . " choking on my words, "to walk in and, and see your big black dick in my, my something, mouth, maybe," I say, my voice dripping venom, but blushing just the same.

"Whoo wee, remind me never to cross you," Alec says. "you really want to do that?"

"Oh Alec. I do, I really do," I say, using my best little girl, 'please daddy' voice.

Alec laughs in my face. "Ooo baby, you are somethin' else. You switch from devil woman to sweet li'l girl at the drop of a hat, don'chu girl?"

"And you switch from sophisticated rich executive to field hand just as quick, donchu boy?" I laugh.

"Oooh, that's it!" he says, grabbing me playfully and wrestling me onto the floor. I am no match for his immense frame. He overpowers me easily and immobilizes both my hands with one of his, laughing, holding them joined behind my back. He pauses. The playful laughter dies; I hear a change in his breathing, something of import is about to occur. I suddenly sense what is coming and struggle harder against his huge black presence. He stretches me across his lap. Undoing the soft belt from my robe, he uses it to bind my hands firmly together, tosses the robe up off my butt.

"This is also a Christmas present." he says.

For some reason I cannot wrap my mind around, I stop fighting. With some chagrin, I discover that I am holding my breath. Waiting. Waiting for what we both know is coming.

Crack! His huge black hand strikes my right ass cheek a stinging blow. All the breath is expelled form my lungs in one long whoosh.

Crack! My left ass cheek burns with the impact.

"Alec, please."

"Count," he says, smacking me harder.

"What? What do you mean?" I ask him, tears starting.

"Count," he says again, smacking me again.

Of course I do not have sense enough to say four. "One, one!" I scream.

"Very good," he laughs. Smack! He is moving his slaps around from up near my waist down to the top of my legs and from one side to the other, spreading the fire around. I barely have time to jump before the next blow descends.

"Two," I quickly yell, holding my breath for the next blow, but it doesn't come. The agony of waiting is more severe than his stinging slaps. He pushes his lap up against me and I am acutely aware that his huge cock is poking up against my crotch, pulsing like a living presence. He is purposely pausing to insure I am aware of his cock, of his need, I tell myself.

He goes on for six more blows, evenly administered, evenly distributed. Each one stings like fire on my bare bottom, but I no longer cry out. "Three, four, five," I count. At every slap I draw my ass sharply down away from his punishing hands, down against his hardness. By the count of seven, my pussy, my lap, his cock, his lap are wet with the fluid running from me. I am pissed off and shamed that I am turned on by his power over me. By the eighth swat I am begging, "please Alec, please," but neither of us is sure if I am pleading for him to stop or begging for more. Every nerve in my body is alive, aware. The fire radiates from my ass like electricity, spreading to my fingertips and toes, to every inch of my skin. I am close to losing myself entirely. I fear the slightest push may send me headlong into the black unknown.

"Six," I count and the pain seems no longer to matter. A sort of mad combination of pain and joy and lust has overcome my senses. Yes, I want him to stop spanking me. But now I want him to stop so I can discover what he will do, what he will demand further from me. What he wills.

His huge black hands flutter softly over the inflamed areas of my buttocks, so gentle. The switch to softness is unnerving; my mind, my body know only his dominion. I will, I must, accept whatever comes next. I am keenly awake and alert. My senses are heightened. I can hear his ragged breathing, my own panting, the ticking of the grandfather clock, the rustling of his toes on the carpet. I can smell his cock, ripe and harshly male; the coffee cups on the table; the heady manly aroma of his sweat; the polish on his shoes that lie discarded nearby; the musty acrid aroma of the juices that run from me. I can taste, yet, the flavor of his manhood so briefly in my mouth; the saltiness of my tears; the remains of my lipstick; the seven-year-old Scotch that started all this. He loosens my hands. "Get up," he says, helping me find my feet. I stand before him, more naked than I have ever been. "Merry Christmas," he says, seriously.

"Thank you," is all I can say.

"You're welcome," he replies, smiling. "Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, anything?"

"No, thank you." I cannot draw my eyes away from his gleaming ebony rod sticking up proudly from his lap, as if waiting for me.

He rises and it sways heavily back and forth. He puts out his midnight black hand, palm up. Obediently, I place my hand in his, like a tiny white rose on black velvet. "Come," he says simply, leading me to his bed. As he lays me on the bed, the fire returns to my ass cheeks, though much reduced.

Once again he kneels between my legs. Those fat, luscious, umber lips are on me, working their magic.

I reach down with my index and middle fingers, sliding one on each side of my swollen clit, drawing back the foreskin that covers it, while his tongue flicks and flashes. My clit is at least twice as swollen as it has ever been. I feel as if I might go crazy if I don't find relief soon. But Alec's gifted tongue and more gifted fingers keep up their magic, driving me up, up, up 'til I am almost over the edge, about to scream, then backing off, slowing in speed and intensity, then building again. Alec begins to use his little 'soul patch' on me. The little sharp points of his 'tickler' brush roughly against my clit, scrubbing it, then the tongue, then the brush again, over and over.

Alec shifts slightly, changing his position. With a sudden jolt, he slips two fingers into me, curling them back toward his palm. His mouth leaves my pussy, sliding instead to suck on my right nipple, his hand pulled up hard. He rotates the heel of his hand on my clit, with pressure so hard I am certain he is about to hurt me, but the two fingers curled inside me work up and down and back and forth on a swollen spot behind my clit. Waves of pleasure sweep over me. "Yes!" I tell him, "Oh my God, yes!" But then, from a place deep within me a totally new urgency begins. "Stop," I say "oh please, Alec, stop."

He does not withdraw his fingers, nor loosen his grip on me, but lifts his mouth from my breast, lifts his body partly, supporting his heavy frame on one elbow, to inquire, "What? Did I hurt you?"

"No. . . but. . . I, er your hand what you are doing to me. . . down there. I, I feel like I am about to pee. Please stop. Please Alec, I don't want to pee in your bed." His hand pulls up tight against me once more, the fat base of his thumb grinding against my clit, two fingers massaging inside.

His lips move to my ear, whispering, "do you want to start counting again?"

"No, no Alec please!"

"Then you must trust me. I know what you are feeling, trust me Iris, trust me," he flicks his fingers even more strongly, "If I make you cum so hard you piss yourself I will be proud and happy to drink fully of all your sweet fluid, now cum for me baby, let go, just let go." Alec's soft sweet breath in my ear sweeps goose bumps over my body.

The threat of further discipline, the commanding tone of his deep hypnotic baritone compels me to surrender. "Let go, baby, let go, cumon baby, let go." Each time he whispers, '"let go" he pulls up hard, the heel of his hand punishing my clit, his fingers working the magic spot. His fingers are sloshing in me. And then it happens, hot and warm the fluid shoots from me. Mind and consciousness disappear as a huge tsunami of an orgasm strikes me. This is no plateau, but a long hot slide to oblivion. The fluid gushes and gushes from me.

Abruptly, he pulls his fingers from me; the sense of loss is crushing, but he moves quickly to fill me with his huge black shiny cock, striking from down low near my butt in long, long strokes so its massive head strikes exactly the same spot his fingers have just left. Spurt after spurt of hot liquid shoots from me and splashes between us. He drives hard against me with wet slapping sounds. I cry out to my maker as he plunges deep in me over and over. . .

Everything in me pushes outward. I am washed away by the current of my own flood, filled with the hot pure fire of sweet surrender, lost. From somewhere in the vast blinding universe, I feel him tense. He grasps my butt cheeks with both hands and pulls me tight against him. The fire in my ass is renewed by his harsh grip, but serves only to heighten my sense of total surrender. His heavy cock pulses and jerks inside me. My pussy contracts down its full length, grabbing him. "Take my cum Iris," he commands, as if I had a choice.

I splash again, and again. Behind my eyes, inside my brain, a myriad of colored fireworks explodes continuously. Tears stream down my face from a cascade of unknown emotion. My body, my insides, my belly, my skin seem to flow outward. I feel as though I am sinking.

"Iris. . . . Iris. . . Iris. . . Iris!" His marvelous voice breaks through to me. Consciousness returns slowly. His dark heavy body atop me feels as if I am buried alive. His massive manhood still fills me, but differently. I embrace another sensation I have never felt before. He is large enough to stay fully in me, even soft. I wonder why I am crying.

"What happened? Did I pass out? How long have I been. . .?"

"Easy, baby. Relax." He rolls partly to one side and I follow, throwing my arms around him as if I were about to lose him forever.

"Oh Alec, Alec. I. . . I. Oh my god that was so, so. . . " I cannot find the words -- awesome, amazing, wonderful -- all fall short. But, yes, full of awe, full of wonder. "You know me better than I know myself. How is that possible?"

"I only know how to open you up and let out what has been smoldering inside, since. . . well, since forever."

"Oh my God," I say, running my hand over the soaking bed beneath and beside us, "is that all from me?"

"Not all, but almost all."

I bring my hand to my face, sniffing. "It doesn't smell much like pee."

"It isn't piss, Iris."

"Well, what is it?"

"No one knows. Scientists are beginning to think it comes from something they call 'the female prostate'. "

"Is that what you touched. . . er, inside me?"

"Yes, Iris, I helped you cum. That wetness all around us is your female ejaculate. Isn't it a wonder and a miracle?"

"It certainly is, you sweet, sweet man. And I am not going to ask you where you learned how to do that. Er, uh. . . Alec. The, uh, spanking. What was that about?"

"You tell me."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't get cute with me, Iris!" he says, running his and over my butt, reminding me. "Tell me how it felt, what it made you feel."

"Can't we just let it go, for now and just enjoy. . . "

"We could have, not now," his words are terse, his voice tight.

"Well, it hurt like hell. How's that?"

"And. . .?"

I blush from the tips of my toes to the roots of my blonde hair.

"Say it!" Alec commands.

"It made me very hot and wet."

"That's better. Do you know why? Why it turned you on so to be spanked?"

"No, no I don't."

"I think you do!"

"No, no really Alec, I don't."

"Think about it."

"Can't you just tell me."

"I could, but those would be my words. You need to say your words. I can tell you why I spanked you, what it made me feel. And I will. But first, you."

"I suppose you are going to say that I was willful and demanding and controlling and you had to, what, 'discipline' me."

"I suppose that is close enough. I felt the situation was getting out of hand. It seemed to me that if we kept on the course we were charting, you were charting, we would have had a relatively quick one night stand and parted, happy to have had someone to fuck, but still alone, still lonely. And still accepting 'good enough'. What was needed was to break that same old chain. You had to learn to surrender. And you had to learn to trust me to take you there. The spanking, which I knew would turn you on. . ."

"Wait a minute! How did you know? You couldn't have known. . . "

"People like me, we know. Don't ask me how, we just know when we have met. . . er, someone like you, someone who needs to learn to, well for now let's just say, needs to learn to let go. Or you could say I knew you needed someone like me."

"Why?"

"Because the kind of total joy, total orgasm, we have just shared can only be felt by those who have learned to let go, learned the joy of total surrender. Tonight, this morning, you, we, have taken the first step in opening you to a whole new world of pleasure. This is your Christmas present from me. Not a new life, necessarily, but surely a new sex life."

"And who taught you to 'let go'?"

"Ah maybe some other time I will tell you all about that."

"And what will I give you for Christmas?"

"Don't worry, I have plans."