Ascension of a Black DombyJeffersonPierce©
She didn't expect it to happen like this.
She had had sex with black guys before. She had liked it, but not anymore than with white guys. Their cocks were bigger, but that one guy, that was packing a foot-long cock was a bit too much, even for her. But this guy was different. He was black, but his blackness was like an armor that he wore, it defined part of his life. A big part. And his cock....
She met him at a club where, as it turns out, he was the featured act on stage that night. His voice was powerful. Notes he would hit would send vibrations straight down from the top of her head, quivering her spine and tingling her pussy lips. At the height of his performance, he let out a yell that was magnificent in its emotion, speaking of loss, pain, and redemption. She had to meet him.
He bounded off stage, covered in sweat. Dripping, in fact. The shine of his sweat, enhanced by the darkness of his skin set off another small chain reaction in her body, making the lips of her pussy moisten slightly as she thought about what might be under the black jeans he wore. He was kind to the people who drifted up to say "Good job, man!", shaking hands and cracking a joke or two. After he had made his way to the bar, she came up just in time to hear him say "Two snakebites, please." He turned, and in that instant, caught her eye.
"Why did you order two drinks?" She said. She could tell he was looking her up and down, knowing he was mentally taking off the baggy skater's jeans and racing jacket she wore.
"So I could have one to give you." He said with a slightly devilish smile. He handed over the drink, the pint glass dripping with condensation. "Hi, my name is..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know what your name is. It's only on the poster out side."
"Wait, wait...I know you. Didn't your uncle work out at that big electronics store? You came in looking for Mos Def cd's, right?"
He met so many people being a "rock star", sometimes everyone looked familiar.
"Yeah, you used to work there, right?"
He took in her small, fairskinned appearance. She was so light, and her hair so blonde, he hadn't thought that she would have even known what hip-hop was. "Yeah, but I fucking hate retail. That will be the last job I work selling people something." He took a swallow of his beer. "Unless it's my own music."
There was something about him, she decided. Something in the way he carried himself. If he was walking to the other side of the room, no one seemed to get in his way. It was as if the people simply parted for him. He had a commanding presence, and she found it riveting. So riveting, in fact, that before she knew it, he was back on stage wishing everyone a good evening and safe travels and the lights in the club were coming on, effectively removing everyone's beer goggles. She lingered over her last beer, watching him pack up, noting how the pants he was wearing stretched tightly over his ass when he bent over.
"You still here?" he said, pushing a (rather small, she thought) wad of bills into his pocket.
"I'm still here." She smiled again.
"Well, that entitles you to a meal on me. I can tell you stories about how stupid your uncle was on the job."
"Shit," she said, sliding off the barstool. "If you told me he did something smart, that would be impressive."
All-night diners all pretty much look the same, but this one was at least attempting to stay away from that Hopperesque "Nighthawks" look. Bright lighting and a cheery waitress helped dispel the quiet desperation prevalent in such places. They ordered coffee and sandwiches, and lit cigarettes as they waited for the food.
"So, did you see that woman in the way too short skirt dancing like she was on fire? Oh my..." He chuckled at the memory.
"I know!" she said exhaling a giggle of her own with her plume of smoke. "Her pussy was right there, for everyone to see. Fucking beefbowl..."
He ground out his smoke and laughed harder. "Beefbowl? Now that's just nasty."
"No, seriously! It looked like the Tuesday special at Mi Fong Garden. I wanted to order the fried rice."
He was out of his chair now, whooping with laughter. He regained his seat, wiped the tears from his eyes, and lit another cigarette. "So, you wanted to order the fried rice...Does that mean...?"
She looked at him, her eyebrow arching. "Does that mean what? Would I lick her pussy? Yeah, I mean it's not like she wasn't hot."
He couldn't believe it. "You mean, you're gay?"
"No." She chuckled "I get that a lot. I think its cause I don't like to be a girly-girl everyday. I like to wear what's comfortable, and sometimes it makes me look butch. I definitely love the cock. I'm not gay. I just like to check out the other side every once in a while. My tastes are a little more..." She paused thoughtfully. "...specialized."
The waitress arrived with plates. They were silent while their immediate hunger was satisfied. He picked up the second half of his sandwich and said "Specialized how?"
She said "Hmmm?", her mouth full of ham and cheese.
"You said your tastes are more specialized. How? Is it as position thing, a place thing? Do you need a cattle prod to get off?"
She giggled, almost choked on her coffee, cleared her throat and said, "Well... I don't really know if I should tell you this..." She stopped. Could she tell him that she loved being dominated, loved having her face shoved into a pillow or having her hair pulled while a big cock was fucking her from behind? Could she tell him that she loved, almost more than anything, a stinging slap on her ass at the point of orgasm? These things were much more accepted now, in 2005, than they were years ago. But some men had problems with it. They couldn't separate from the admonishment of youth that hitting women was bad. But they don't understand...
"I'm a submissive."
"Really!" Genuine surprise filled his face "like, as in dominant/submissive? Leather harnesses and ball gags and all that stuff? Man, I usually don't dig people like that. You know, cats standing around the grocery store in a leather trench with studs, telling his girl to bark like a dog so he can feel like a big man. Bullshit. Arrogant assholes. I do like what the women wear, though. I used to go to goth night to see all of the girls in their skintight PVC."
"No, no." she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin and waving her hands to say time out. "Some people like the costumes and all that jazz, and I do like the feeling certain outfits give me. But what most people miss is that in these situations, the person on the receiving end is in control. I have a busy life. I like giving up that control in bed. I once had a...partner down near St. Louis. He loved to cane me. I met him when I was a little too young though..." She drifted off. " But, there's nothing like it. Sometimes the endorphins get so strong, it's like smoking the best weed ever. The heat of my ass when he would hit me..." She would have to stop soon. She was getting aroused and she knew that when that happened, there were only two options. Good hard cock now, right now, or a two hour jill-off while she watched disc one of The Fashionistas. She lit a cigarette. "Still, the point is, I decide how far I want to go. You can do all that wild shit to me, but if I say the safe word, it all stops." She thought that she might let him do all that wild shit, if he did it right.
He contemplated this while smoking. The check arrived and he paid, leaving a decent tip, which pleased her. She hated cheapskates. Their stinginess almost always crossed over into the bedroom. He remained contemplative until they were on the way back to her car when he said, "So do you discuss this kind of thing?"
"Hell yes!" She looked a little ticked that anyone would think otherwise. "If you don't you're looking at a world of hurt. I went all the way to St. Louis, man. That's six hours away. No one knew I was going and I was going to get my ass beaten. He could have killed me, and then I'd be a face on the damned milk carton. And we had discussed it intently. But I couldn't do it any more. It's too far away, and he had a girlfriend..." She changed the subject. "Can I get a CD from you?"
"Sure. Just follow me back to my place, and I'll get you one."
After she had followed him home to his second floor walk-up, and helped him unload his equipment, he took the money for the CD, and she pulled a joint out of her pocket and offered him a drag.
"I don't know if this is a good idea. I get really horny when I get stoned." he said after exhaling a huge cloud of sweet smoke at the ceiling fan.
"Why wouldn't it be?" she said before taking a hit, the tip of the joint burning hotly.
"I might start talking about sex again and then I'd invariably try to get you into bed, and you would slap me, and leave, and I would lose all of the respect that I've spent the last few hours trying to build." He accepted the marijuana cigarette and puffed prodigiously.
She appeared thoughtful, and then without warning, whipped off her T-shirt, and unhooked her bra. "This should alleviate any doubts you might have about this being a good thing."
He smiled, and handed back the joint. She took another mighty toke, then roached it, setting it in his glass ashtray. "For later," she said, unzipping her fly and pulling her jeans off. "Right now, you're wearing too many clothes."
He rapidly disrobed, and soon they were on the bed, her mouth wrapped wetly around his, she pulled back for a second and said "Take me."
He wasted no time as he picked her up and threw her back on the bed. The shock of this forced her to gasp as her pushed her legs apart roughly and began to tongue her fat, swollen pussy. He held her legs together, straight up, as he swabbed her cleft with his tongue, clit to ass, until she came, making his face wet with her juices. He smacked her ass hard, leaving a red handprint. Sitting up, he commanded her, "Suck my cock."
She obeyed, grabbing his hot cock with her hand. It wouldn't really fit all the way around it, but thickness was not surprising. What really drove her around the bend (so to speak) was the gentle curve of his cock, and the way it fit right down her throat. She wanted to stay on his dick all night, but after giving him her mouth for what seemed like hours but was maybe ten minutes, he pushed her head off of his cock, and, grabbing her ankles, yanked her legs apart and shoved his cock inside her sopping pussy, all the way to the hilt.
She couldn't see for a moment. Her whole being was occupied with the big black cock. When she finally returned to herself, the smacking sound she heard was her hips banging into his as he tried to bury his whole body, it seemed, in her pussy. He pinched her nipples (they were pierced-along with her ears-it was her only obvious sign that she was in the lifestyle) and drove his cock into her harder, wanting to drive her through the bed. He didn't succeed, but her screams and panting told him that he had succeeded at something else. Her lower abdomen felt like a contained wet explosion. She came so hard, her pussy squeezed his cock like a fist. It was a good thing, too. Because, as her umpteenth orgasm subsided, he pulled out with a muted roar, and shot a stream of cum all over her compact tits. Two blasts followed the first, and he sagged, momentarily listing left as his leg twitched, then recovered. Hopping off the bed, he grabbed a fluffy blue bath towel, and wiped her clean.
They made love until he couldn't get it up any more that early morning, and he said "Whew! Your pussy is so good, so tasty... Hey... Can I talk to you?"
She sat up in bed, letting the sheet fall from her breasts. He liked that. He was glad she was comfortable with her body. It wasn't supermodel quality or anything, but she had a nice round little ass and her breasts were small, with nice fat little nipples that got hard if he touched the ring with its hematite gem. Her shaved pussy was lovely. He had loved letting his tongue explore every crevice of her sex, enjoyed spreading her lips with his fingers to lick her tasty juices from inside. Her thighs and ass were toned, but just chunky enough to get a handle on. The curve of her ass was made to fit his slapping, smacking hand. She had a slight belly (which was the only part she was a little self-conscious about) but he thought it was sexy. Hell, he'd been letting himself go, had a small potbelly of his own that he convinced others was muscle because of singing so much, but he knew it was beer and laziness. Blond hair and mystic eyes, like the song, but the eyes always had that fuck-me thing in them. That animalistic vibe, that "I'll do anything" gaze.
He thought about what he was about to say, then said "Look at me."
"I am looking at you, you dork." she said.
"No. Look into my eyes." As she looked, he could see the change settle in her. He projected hunger, the naked kind that could eat raw meat. She seemed to understand that a change was taking place. Her countenance slid from her normal, proud, aware self into one not unlike a geisha. Pleasant and willing, with a hint of mischief. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I want you to be my black cock slut."
"I mean-" He stopped.
"Out with it!" she said. "You've got to be more forceful than that."
"No I mean, look. This is a thing, you know? Like, this is stuff that I've always wanted to do. I'm a black guy, right? But I don't act like most people expect black folks to act. You know, I went to college and had good parents, and to talk a certain way was not cool, you know? Kind of like not having respect for what you were. So, I never talked like the brothers in the 'hood, you know? I don't say nigga this and nigga that. But there is a part of me..." He paused. "I believe in racial harmony, but I also know how much fun it is to be black. There are some things I think that white folks in general will never understand about being black. Same as I'll never understand certain joys and sorrows that a woman goes through, or a Jewish person. "
"Damn straight you have no idea what it's like to be a woman," she said. "You're a big, black man. You walk down the street and people are afraid of you."
"I just conceded that, Miss Thing. Can I finish?"
She laughed and said "Go on."
"Well, I'd kind of like to forget what I know sometimes and call a white girl a white slut who should fuck a real man. Maybe it means that I'm sick in the head or that I hate myself or something. But I don't know. It's like letting go in a weird way. Being free to be that big, black, scary nigger, with his shirt off, oiled and glistening, making some unsuspecting white woman his bitch. Not afraid to slap her and tell her that she only exists to please him and his black cock."
She rolled over on the bed and grabbed cigarettes, lit two, and handed one to him. "So that's what you want to do with me?"
He hesitated. It was as far as he'd ever gone with someone. But if she was willing, it could be a lot of fun, and maybe exercise some demons that he had. "Yes," he finally said. "I want to make you kneel before the cock." He paused, and just let it rip. "I want you to do anything I say, not because you want to, but because I tell you to. I want to spank your ass as punishment for wanting this black cock. I want you to withstand the tortures that I put you through, just so you can have this between your legs and in your mouth. I want you to be permanently wet for me. I want you to want me because I am that big, black, scary nigger who'd just as soon slap you as rape you, and you are a tiny, little scared white girl, knowing that I'm what your fucking mother warned you about." He smiled. "Kind of silly, huh?"
"No, you've got to be kidding. I've heard much sillier." She smiled. "But I haven't heard anything as hot. You got me. Here," she said, taking his hand and leading it to her crotch. "See how wet I am? What you said did that. Now all I can think about is having you behind me, smacking my ass and calling me a black cock slut while you fuck the living shit out of me. What are you doing on Friday?"
"Actually, I don't have any gigs this weekend. I'm off. How about you?"
"I'm free, as well. Do you want to get together?"
"Sure. What do you want to do?"
"I thought, " she said, and the little subbie smile reappeared , " you were going to tell me what we're going to do."
He smiled, and looked extremely uncomfortable for a second. He got off the bed and looked at the gathering sunshine. It must have been pushing six a.m. and he had appointments this afternoon. But if this is what he had to look forward to...
He turned back to the bed, and she sat looking at him, an uncertain gaze on her face. Abruptly, he went to the bed, turned her over and pulled her hair. "Listen, you little white cunt. I think you might be what this god is looking for. But you ain't proven that by a long shot." His speech patterns were changing from liberal arts to South Side Chicago. The sloughing of his everyday persona was beginning. "You've got to do some things for me, 'ho. You got that? You got to serve this royalty!" He smacked her ass, not as hard as he could , but hard enough to show he meant business, er, bidness.
She gasped at the feel of his hand, and became extremely aroused, her naked cheek still stinging. "What do you want me to do?" she breathed.
"Uh-uh, bitch. You got ta show respect." He smacked her naked ass again, harder. "I'm everything to you now. I'm..." He paused and slipped out of character, appearing thoughtful. Then, the smile returned, wicked as hell. "I'm yo' fuckin' daddy now, bitch. Ask me again, ask me right." This time the room echoed with the sound of the stinging slap as his hand flashed across her cheek again, causing her to almost leap off the bed, if it weren't for the hold he had on her hair.
When she could speak, she whispered "What do you want me to do, Daddy?"
"I can't hear you, slut. What?"
She said in a normal tone of voice, "What do you want me to do, Daddy?"
He had actually had a plan for years, what he would do in this situation. He wanted to be as rough as he wanted with her, but he wanted to make sure she knew that he would never hurt her, never pass her around to his friends, never gloat about their time together. But He could tell her all of that on Friday. Instead he said, "Listen here, bitch. I want you to get me a quarter bag of weed and roll me a big-ass blunt. Not any of that brown bullshit either. Good fuckin' chronic, you hear? I want you to bring the weed and the blunt over here Friday night. You also need to get a forty for me. You also need to wear somethin' good underneath them fuckin' boy-clothes you wear. I mean a fuckin' thong so I can see your fuckin' ass any muhfuckin' time I want to. I don't care what you wear up top, it's fuckin' comin' off anyway. You got it so far, white girl?"
"You're gonna strip for me, and you're gonna roll that blunt for me in your fuckin' thong with your tits out so I can pinch 'em and suck on 'em whenever I want. It better be a good blunt, too. Then I'm gonna light it, and while I get fuckin' faded, I want you on my cock. Suck it, lick the fuckin' balls 'til I fuckin' come on your face. You ever tasted black cum, bitch?"
She said, "Yes, Daddy."
Just like that, his hand flashed over her backside again, twice. "You fuckin' white suburban black cock slut! You want black cock all the time don't you? Well, forget those other weak-ass wanksters. I'm all the black cock you need. You got your fuckin' orders. Get dressed and get the fuck out so I can get some sleep. Friday at two in the afternoon, your ass is mine."