Untamed Passion

Physical lust had been his first impulse when he had first seen this African beauty at the counter, but in his courtship of her, he had discovered a wonderful woman to whom he could give his affection and she would not demand anything of him in return, save himself. Sexual want made his actions forceful, if not rough, but the madness that rose to choke him came from an internal struggle to escape the feelings that threatened to burst his heart.

The hand which he used to stroke and caress her face was gentle, but the knee he used to nudge her legs open was not – he was only surprised that her legs came apart so easily, almost willingly. Her eyes, which were dark, now seemed like pools of liquid black, and shone as if on the brink of tears. Her chest heaved and her lips trembled as though on the verge of words. Pressing closer, supporting his weight, he settled between her legs, his erection nestling upon the kinky midnight bush on her thighs. Michael nuzzled at her neck, breathing heavily.

"Nakina, you're just so beautiful," he whispered. "I've been wanting to make love to you for ages now."

Nakina felt herself melting at his words, her body producing the physical proof of that arousal. The air from the overhead fan tickled her secret lips with its cool touch, and she shivered as much from it as from the hands that were now stroking her hips and her arms. Suddenly Michael bucked his hips and she felt the hot fleshy head slide and settle against her opening. Without pause, he pushed forward to part her slick ebony folds with his throbbing white shaft, sinking into the delicious pink regions within.

Though aroused, Nakina was far more nervous, and her muscles clenched tightly against the intrusion. Michael pushed through painfully, immersing himself fully and let out low growl as he did so. Nakina watched as the light curls of his pubic hair pulled away from the dark of hers, sighing as he vacated her body, gasping as he joined them again. She placed a hand on his waist to try and moderate his movements, but the faint sheen of sweat caused it to slide over his firm buttocks, exciting him further.

Beneath him she cried out, not certain whether from pleasure or pain. She had no knowledge of a pleasure that could cause a woman to cry out, and the pain she felt was very real. As he pulled out, she clenched harder to try and deny him passage. Despite her dread, she was quite aroused, and her body betrayed her with its sweet secretions, ensuring he had a way to push back into her body.

For his part, Michael was overexcited, and her clenching muscles only made it worse for him. After only a dozen or so plunging thrusts of his hips, he felt his body tense suddenly. It was too soon and he was desperate to prolong the affair – he began to thrust deeper and faster into his African lover. Though he closed his eyes to try and calm himself down, the image of her sooty body was even more vivid in his mind's eye – he was assailed from within, as well as from without. He felt a tinge of anger at his inability to have carried on longer, but his selfish male pride flinched at the thought that Nakina would not find pleasure at her first union with him. He could stop now and wait for himself to calm down, but to a man it was almost as good as admitting defeat.

Nakina was startled as he took three great lunging stabs into her, then cried out as if he had been mortally wounded. The full weight of his body pinned her down as he collapsed upon her. She was confused, never having seen a man react so fiercely during sex, her own experiences recalling them as clumsy affairs that ended in a low prolonged grunt, followed by the separation of flesh. Though bewildered, her ego was tickled.

"Michael?" she squeaked quietly, afraid somebody had heard the outcry. She anticipated the door bursting open and rude eyes come to gaze upon his pale body lying atop hers, amidst upset sheets and scattered pillows.

An indeterminate time passed before he finally pulled away from her. Slowly he lifted his body away from hers, slipping out of her, to leave himself suspended above her, whereupon he kissed her forehead and began to nuzzle her face. His eyes were no longer wild and were quite sane.

It seemed that what had just transpired only dawned upon her then, and with frantic haste she slipped away from beneath him. She came to sit at the edge of the bed, her back turned to him, forbidding as a wall. There she sat wide-eyed to look into the mirror set on the wall beside the bed, her trembling legs clenched together. Her hair was a terrible mess, its thick kinky consistency giving her a wild look, whilst she shivered from the down-draft of the ceiling fan, and her buttocks, now unusually sensitive, was tickled by the gentle fabric beneath. Or was she still feeling the caress of his hand and the sting of his groin?

Unreasonable panic set in and she contemplated snatching up her belongings and running out of the door, naked if need be. Now that he was done and had used her body for his pleasure, would it be the end of their relationship?

The bed shifted behind her, but she did not look back to watch him get dressed and leave. Her surprise was something close to shock when he placed an arm around her waist, and she turned to gaze down at him smiling lazily at her. Looking at him, hair slightly dishevelled, she still could not find it in herself to say that he was handsome; he was... beautiful. Yes, that was it, she thought, a touch breathlessly.

After watching each other for what seemed a great passage of time, Michael sat up, pressing himself against her back, stroking her waist and shoulders, and brushing his lips against her neck. "You are despondent ma Cherie."

"This is just..." she began, but had nothing to say in reality. She was looking at him in the mirror as he watched her in return. Coiling himself about her, Michael continued to explore her body with his hands and lips, whilst his taut thighs pressed firmly against her soft hips. Part of her wanted to partake, but the rest of her was too embarrassed to even move. Michael began to breath deeply against her, as one might do when trying to perceive an elusive fragrance. Nakina's eyes flew open and began to pull away, mortified.

"You have a wonderful scent Miss Owusu," he murmured against her neck with a kiss, his fingers digging gently into her body. After all the teasing she had received, this development amazed her – she watched him in the mirror, nuzzling her neck and shoulders, his face far away and serene.

Pressed against her, she could feel the rousing of his body, and her breath came in short, quick pants. Michael gathered her breast from over her stomach, cradling them with his arm. From his embrace, they spilled over, and Nakina wished once again that her body was firm like that of a fashion model, but if Michael found them unattractive, his was a different reaction, for he began to caress them as though precious treasures.

Again, Nakina found her body reacting to his touch – he seemed to know her body better than she did herself, and suddenly wanted to sink back into his pampering embrace. By now there was no mistaking his arousal – the burning heat that pressed firmly at the base of her back was unmistakable. Slowly, she relaxed into him and felt herself being lowered back upon the bed.

Michael leaned over her, his eyes worshipping her in silent holy appreciation. He drew a pair of fingers between her breasts, over the rounded swell of her belly, down through the thickset bush, to find, at last, the mound of her engorged sex. With gentle motions he parted the fleshy lips with strong white fingers, stroking her gently, then dipped them partly into her. Her gasp was a soft beautiful thing, her wide eyes flickering between his taunting face and the hand that brought sobbing pleasure to her groin.

Under her wandering hand, she felt the firm muscles of his thighs, and her cheeks grew hot as her body remembered the force with which he could drive them. Her hand did not move any higher, at least until he took it with his own hand and placed it where he had secretly wanted her to explore. In her soft palm, she was amazed by the unyielding consistency that was both hard and gentle at the same time – this was the first time she had touched a man in the fullness of his erection, just managing to encircle him with thumb and forefinger. The thought of how much bigger it was than his fingers made her breathless.

Over her nipples, his tongue flickered like a live thing; licking, teasing and torturing her all at one. He squeezed at her breasts, his pale flesh digging, his tongue a pink flickering thing against her wide dusky nipple. Then he moved to the next, and she arched her back longingly at him. Her exposed nipple glistened with saliva and hardened in the chill flow of the air that teased her with its passing.

In the palm of her hand, it seemed that a living furnace burned there. She looked there, and what she held seemed cool and gentle, but it pulsed and throbbed angrily in her hand. Without the melanin content of a darker man, every bump and ridge seemed angrily visible, the veins straining against the pale velvet-smooth skin, and the swollen head was dark, as if ready to burst from the desire she had instilled in him. She had never seen anything so deliciously lewd in her life. A desire to fondle him overcame her, to mimic the wicked gripping strokes of her slippery passage.

Michael was no less interested in looking upon the intimate regions of her body – he had leaned back, stretching his chest as one in sheer pleasure, but was secretly looking upon her. His fingers worked intently at her swollen lips and within. The pink that surrounded his fingers and clutched at them, he had seen in other women, but never had it seemed so delectable as here upon her – the dark lips and black wiry hair highlighted it in lascivious and sinful detail. He couldn't wait any longer – it was his engorged shaft which needed that intimate attention, not his fingers.

Slipping from her grasp, he set his knees between her legs once again. This time she spread herself wide for him and the sight made his erection strain painfully, rising to point upward. Its entirety was now the same colour that only its head had formerly been. He wanted to take her violently and make her scream with delight, but he also wanted to perversely delay the moment. Kneeling between her legs, his own thighs at either side of buttocks, he spread her lips with the head of his throbbing phallus, sliding in the wetness of her desire.

Nakina watched, entranced by this slower seductive approach. He immersed himself slowly, exhaling with every inch that sunk into her, whilst she inhaled with each passing moment. At last he reached full length and he leaned forward, placing his hands at her hips, his arms brushing them, whilst his face hovered above her chest. She believed he would seek her breasts again, and she cupped one for him as if in offering, but when she could not control it with one hand alone, she crossed her arms and gathered them up, presenting them to him.

Taking a dark nipple into the warm sanctuary of his mouth, he licked and nibbled at the thumb-sized nub until it hardened. One of her hands came away to caress his head, and she threw her own head back in a sigh as he began to make slow, deep thrusts into her body. Twisting his hands, he leaned fully on his wrists, so that he could grope and kneed at the generous portions of her hips and cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart to wickedly expose her intimate regions.

At last she gave out a groan, and Michael swelled with triumph. He was straining with himself now, trying not overdo himself – he was intent that they should both achieve orgasm together. Though Nakina was possessed of a powerful body odour which embarrassed her and was constantly teased for it, Michael inhaled deeply this tantalising scent. It pulled at the base animal parts of his psyche, and his arousal was something of a primal ingrained thing, that plucked, with maddening fingers, at his more civilised being, urging him to drop the pretence of manners.

Now he left her breasts, so that he might watch her face and clutched her hips strongly. He began to buck fiercely and her body was rocked by his efforts, their flesh striking wetly against each other. Nakina had to grip the sheets in an effort to steady herself. For now he stuck to deep rhythmic thrusts to keep his calm, but whilst his movements were smooth, his hips lunged too violently for his own liking upon re-entering her.

Nakina felt every squirming thrust within her, and her body gripped him snugly as though it had been moulded solely for him. She was only slightly bemused that she had been so willing to give herself to the embrace of a white man, and that her body was accepting him with no qualms, even working lustfully to aid him in this seductive endeavour. She watched him with a strange detachment, feeling blissfully content, and for a moment she was free from all bodily and worldly concerns.

Then the pleasure surged. It ripped through her, and she was dragged back down from her lofty heights, to partake in the base temptations of the flesh.

She threw back her head and cried out from the agony of it. The pleasure was as fierce as pain. The sheet she gripped was pulled free of its moorings and was useless to steady her, yet still she clutched at it. Her legs snaked about him, trying to caress him. The surge had died down, but she was still riding the flood and she jerked her head to watch him penetrate her. Her face felt damp and chill, but so lost was she to emotion that she could not tell if it was sweat or tears or both.

Emboldened, Michael now took firm hold of her hips and as he thrust into her, he pulled her body into his, sliding her on the bed as one possessed of superhuman strength. Momentarily he tore his eyes from her face to look down between them so that he might see, with his own eyes, the proof of their joining. His shaft glistened lewdly as he pulled it from her midnight body, and then her grasping legs tightened about his waist to pull him, gasping, back into those greedy depths.

It was all becoming too much for his senses – his sacs felt heavy and laden; aching from having held back one orgasm, now a second, and since he was certain her orgasm was inevitable, it would be just as well to end it. For now – there would always be time in the future for more exploration. Kneeling upright, he unhooked her legs from his waist and set them upon his shoulders, whilst Nakina watched him with some interest. Finally he began to push them forward and she gasped anew as she felt him sliding even deeper into her body, gasped again as he briefly touched her deepest regions.

Finally he began anew and Nakina's soft body began to quiver from the force of it. His body never seemed to leave hers, but his hips worked relentlessly to drive his shaft into her shuddering depths. They both were aware that this would be the last hurdle of this desperate race.

Her hips and legs were wide and thickset, and all she could see of him was his face, his imprisoning arms, and firm thighs astride her buttocks. She looked at his face, his eyes closed, his mouth kissing, licking, nibbling at her ankle and the delicate skin behind her knee. She looked at his arms that gripped her legs tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh, preventing her escape. His pale thighs felt firm and slick against the soft dark mounds of her lascivious cheeks.

As new lovers, they had not yet come to know each others limits properly and they strained against each other in an unruly manner, rather than complementing one another. Each of them strived to hold back the orgasm that was only moments away and their voices betrayed that strain. They did not hear the sharp echo of a woman's high-heels in the corridor outside as she passed by, but that woman heard them and paused outside, her groceries forgotten in hand. Nakina's feminine moans and wails intermingled with Michael's deeper groans and grunts, and left little to the imagination as to exactly what was going behind that closed door.

She knew the owner of that room, had even fantasised about him on lonely nights, but this activity was unprecedented for him. She tried to imagine his taste in women, so as to better picture who exactly was sharing his bed at that moment. Since he was a white man, of decidedly European origin, she automatically assumed a woman of the same. Between the wantonness of that woman's voice, and her own preconceptions, she decided upon the clichéd stereotypical busty blonde bimbo, and not for a moment did she consider the more erotic sight of an exotic tangle of ebony and ivory limbs struggling amidst loose satin sheets.

The hallway was deserted, so she edged just a little closer and gingerly placed her ear to the door. This close, she could hear the contact of their bodies striking wetly against each other, and soon her own heartbeat was one of the sounds she heard. Surely he was taking the woman for all she was worth. The woman within called out her partner's name and it seemed she had a French accent, and again, the picture conjured by Michael's neighbour was far from the truth. Taking off her heels, she raced quickly to her room with the sound of their voices still ringing in her ears. She tossed the groceries aside, slid out of her panties and fell upon her bed fully clothed, where her fingers began to bring her relief. "Lucky bitch..." she muttered hoarsely without heat, as she began to dip her fingers, listening to the sounds of her rutting neighbours through the wall.

Meanwhile Michael and Nakina remained unaware, caught within their private world of bliss that was soon to be shattered. Michael felt the twitch and the tightening of his scrotum as it pulled close. Nakina also understood by the look on his face, and as his mouth pulled into a grimace, she released the sheets, pulling her legs closer to her body. The loss of support, provided by her legs, caused him to pitch forward in surprise, leaning upon her heavily.

He gasped and she gasped as he came to touch and rest against her deepest recess, their bodies welded against each other. With a low cry, Michael felt the unbearable rush of that thick white flood that surged through his engorged shaft, to end in the wicked spurting spasms that is an epiphany to the lewdness of the male orgasm. The flooding gush was that of two orgasms; the one now, and the one he had held back from before. It filled her so completely, that even he felt its hot swirling embrace. Michael's body shuddered and his groan was a feral, animal thing. Nakina's own climax was no less delicious, nor less wicked.

Deep within her, she felt hot swirl of his body's offering and it plucked at something deep within her. Her body understood its function and did not care for the circumstances under which it found itself; only that fulfilled its purpose. A first spasm, then the next, and another, until it rippled unbearably and pulsed along the length of his intruding member. Her slippery cavity had already taken his substantial donation, but her body demanded everything he had to offer and its attention was merciless. Nakina's cry was agonised and triumphant.

Michael's strength completely gave out, and as Nakina felt him lean further forward, she parted her legs, allowing him to come to rest fully along her body. His head came to rest against her neck, and Nakina placed her hands along his back to hold him close. Turning to look at his face, her expression might have been as dazed as the first African girl to have willingly shared a bed with a European colonial, and his not much different. This time the weight of his body felt reassuring and she looked at their reflections in the mirror, her eyes slowly beginning to close.