Black Arts

I was doing some charity work in Haiti after one of their endless disasters, setting concrete blocks for a community center. When the rest of the white savior work crew went back to the states, I stuck around for a while, wanting to get a feel of the local culture and people. One of the native guys I met on the job, the cement guy, invited me for a beer the first evening, and I gladly came along.

We had a few drinks and I started running my mouth. I always considered myself a ladies' man, so I was boasting about some of my more exotic encounters. My new friend just smiled and nodded and laughed along at all the right places. When I eventually realized I was the one doing all the talking, I encouraged him to take a turn.

"Why are you just sitting back smiling? I bet you've had some real adventures. What was your wildest night?"

"Nothing you would believe, my friend."

"Oh yeah? Well now you have to tell me!"

He sat there a moment, trying to make up his mind about me. Finally, he said, "You would just have to experience it for yourself. I'm not sure you are ready for it."

That got me very interested. "What the hell, man! I'm up for anything!"

He leaned in, "You ever give up control? Submit?"

I couldn't say that I had. The only time I had played around with ropes and gags, I wasn't the one tied to the bed. But the idea got me stirred up.

"Like I said, I'm up for anything!" But I had no idea what I was saying.

He just shook his head. But at that point, I was insistent, to the point of becoming annoying. A couple more beers, and I don't know if I finally convinced him, or if he just wanted to put me in my place. Either way, he said, "Give me your phone."

I did. He punched in a number, called it, and his phone buzzed. "That's for when you want me to come and pick you up. Let's go."

I didn't have a car, so I climbed in the jeep with him. It was dark, and we headed out of the city, onto a dirt road. I trusted my new friend, for no reason, but I was sobering up on the drive, just from the excitement of the unknown, and from thinking about his question, 'You ever give up control?'

We eventually drove through a dirt village and stopped at a house just beyond it. The yard was overgrown with tropical plants with big leaves, and fragrant flowers. The house was block but painted brightly. It was probably quite attractive in the daytime.

My friend led me up the one step to the wooden porch. There was a dim light on inside, visible through the lace window curtains. He knocked and, in a few moments, she opened the heavy wooden door. There was still a screen door between us. She saw my friend and smiled.

She was nothing more than a silhouette from the lamp light behind her. The whitest of eyes and teeth within an ebony shape, almost as tall as me, shaved head, large hoop earrings, her figure hidden within a flowing gown.

They had a conversation in their language, much of which involved looking sideways at me. The laughed the laugh of old friends, which almost put me at ease. She opened the screen door and stood aside. I stepped into the house. She shut the screen door and then the wooden one. My friend was gone.

That's when I discovered she spoke no English. She did speak, in her own language, more to herself than to me. And her voice was low and soothing. I just let the sounds wash over me and I relaxed more than I had any reason to.

I got a better look at her now that she wasn't backlit. Her skin was so impossibly dark. Her features were graceful. Her lips thick, her nostrils broad, her eyebrows high and arched, her skin unblemished. I had no way to guess her age.

Her gown was colorful, in reds and yellows. It could have been a housedress, something she slept in, or something she threw on when we knocked on her door. Her feet were bare, and she gestured for me to take my shoes off too and place them near the door, so I did.

The house was all one room. The lamp was on a breakfast table with two chairs. There was a stove, a small bed, a couch, and what looked like a massage table. At that point, I made a bad assumption that my friend had just dropped me off for the best massage of my life, with what I assumed would be a spectacular happy ending.

She came to me and undressed me, like I was a child. She lifted my t-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. She unbuckled my belt and gently slid it out of the loops. She unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, and I helped her by stepping out of them. At that point, I was a little self-conscious, but I was still assuming it was for a massage, so I let her slip down my briefs. She gathered my clothes and put them in a basket by the bed, then came back to me. I watched her walk away and back, still very unsure of the shape beneath the dress, though I could see there were plenty of curves in the front and the back.

She stood in front of me again and smiled. She spoke some words over me as she stroked my forehead, and I felt myself relax. My self-consciousness melted away, and with it, I stopped fighting down my desires, and my erection began to take a stand.

She paid no attention to my cock, which seemed like a professional thing to do, but the truth is that she was completely focused on my face. She began to press her fingers into my temples and her thumbs on my cheeks and under my chin. It was very intimate, and still very much what a masseuse might do. I felt my breathing slow, my heart rate steady, my head growing a bit too heavy for my neck.

Still holding my head in her hands, she backed me towards the table, and I leaned back onto it and lay down flat on my back. My dick was hard against my belly. My arms were limp at my sides. My eyes were open, but when she stepped away, I didn't turn my head. So, I couldn't say what she got, or from where, but when she returned, she had a large pink flower in one hand that looked like nothing less than a vagina as she pressed the corners and it opened. In the other hand, she held a large phallus, as lily white as mine, but twice the size. It looked like it was made of ivory. I saw that it was carved into the shape of a man, bulbous head necking down to sloping shoulders, arms at the side, penis carved in outline into the belly, cut off at the knees into a flat end with some kind of plug or stopper there.

She laid the flower and the phallus on my chest for just a moment. Long enough for her to pull down the shoulders of her dress so that it fell to the floor.

I had enough presence to turn my head towards her then, and the sight was lovely. Her breasts were so full and round, but her nipples were low, and pointed down. They were an even darker black, puffy areolas and bite-sized nubs. Her waist curved extravagantly into her hips, and I could not see anything more below the table and into the shadows.

We both smiled. Then she took my penis in her hand and stroked me. She had already oiled her palm. Again, she was gentle, and resisted any attempt I made to push my hips off the table to fuck her hand. With her other hand, she stroked my forehead until I calmed down.

When my dick first began to throb, I must have released some pre-cum, because she wiped it like nectar off the tip of my penis, then took the flower, opened, and pressed her wet finger inside. She rubbed it all around and when she removed her finger it was coated with a red paste, that she then rubbed on both her nipples, painting them bright red.

She walked over to the bed and got a pillow and propped my head up at an angle so I could see down my body. Then she lifted one breast to my mouth and pressed the nipple in between my lips. The red paste was tart, but as I suckled her, a sweet milk flowed into my mouth and the two tastes blended into something so perfect I knew I would never want to stop sucking.

I drank from her a long time, until the flow was just a trickle, then she gave me the other breast and I drank from her all over again. As I swallowed her, I saw a look of ecstasy on her face, and maintaining that look became more important to me than the pleasure of her nipple in my mouth, her milk down my throat.

Something was happening inside me that I could not identify as long as I was drinking from her. My relaxed body didn't move but felt stiffer somehow. And there was some new awareness on the edges of my mind, like I door I could open soon. When I was done drinking, she placed my head firmly back against the pillow. I was not limp. My head stayed exactly where she placed it, like clay.

She stepped back then to assess my condition. she lifted my arm, let go, and it stayed there. I could not move it. My eyes could not even betray my surprise. I could breathe, and I could blink, and think, though in a cloudy state, but my body was a doll for her use.

She placed my still outstretched arm back on the table. Then she reached down to my cock and pulled it away from my belly and pointed it straight up at the ceiling. It stayed there. I felt the pulsing of it internally, but it didn't move. And I knew then that I would still be able to ejaculate, but without any thrusting or control on my part.

'You ever give up control? Submit?'

I understood now. This was not a game. There was no safe word. I was at her mercy. And my only hope was knowing my new friend had survived this, and that it was the most extreme sexual experience of his life.

My view was still down my body, and I knew it was only because she wanted me to watch, to see what she was doing. She took the phallus from where it was on my chest and removed the large stopper. Then she slid it over my penis like a stiff condom. I thought it would be hard and sharp, but when I entered it, it took on the shape of me, and my senses extended into it as if my cock had simply expanded to twice it's width. She let go, and it was still pointed to the ceiling. She slid her hand up and down the shaft and I felt it, up and down MY shaft.

Satisfied, she climbed up onto the table and straddled me, carefully easing my huge phallus into her pussy. I felt the inside of her like I had never felt a woman before, the wetness, the heat, even the taste of her, the strong smell. She carefully lowered herself until it was completely inside. I felt the tip against her cervix, I felt myself expand to fill her as if I were fisting her and opening my hand. This was not a stroking or a pounding, this was a filling and expanding. I felt the tip of her clit pressing against the base of my phallus, around her stretched labia, and I felt the rest of that organ, deep inside her and touching me again where I felt her g-spot as I filled every space inside her. And I felt her almost vibrate, and then shake and then she began to cum. Her legs jerked like she was being electrocuted. Her arms raised into the air. Her empty breasts slung around her in an erotic dance. She cried out, or sang, or chanted, or screamed.

The shape of the phallus was filling her so completely, her juices flowed out in all directions around the base. And with her cumming so violently, I felt my ejaculation building. This was more extreme than any edging that I had played at. In my mind, I could feel her pinching off my climax as if her fingers were pinching both my balls and my prostate. But the pressure behind it was as strong as any peak orgasm I had ever felt.

Then I felt her inside my mind. She was still cumming on the outside, so she was staggering and stumbling in my mind. I felt her reach for the new door I had seen there, and I could see a bright light around the doorframe. She opened the door, and I began to cum.

But it was not me cumming, it was her! I was looking out her eyes at my stiff body. I was filled with the phallus. Every inch of my pussy was filled and stimulated, and I was cumming as only a woman can cum. As only this woman could cum. I felt that she started over in her pleasure on my behalf, so I could feel what she felt, feel her entire clit on fire, feel the pressure filling inside her, inside me. I felt the ache in her nipples, the emptiness in her breasts. And I knew she could go on like this at will, as long as she chose. And I did not want it to end.

She looked me right in the eyes as my internal orgasm was ready to burst. I could see her eyes with mine. I could see my eyes with hers. She still held my orgasm pinched off, as I felt her cumming with her whole body. I wanted to beg her to release my orgasm, but I could not even beg with my eyes, though I felt them watering, and a tear ran down the corner.

She held her hand out in front of my face then, her index finger and thumb pinched together. And with a wild laugh she opened them.

Oh my God. The feeling of release alone was nothing I could have imagined. But I was still feeling both her orgasm and mine, my cum shooting out and her body taking it in.

The phallus pumped my semen into her pussy and sealed it shut. In her mind I could feel my cum pouring directly into her womb, our womb, and not a drop came out of her pussy, our pussy. I was a firehose on the inside, and the release in my mind was better than cocaine. But by all appearances, I was motionless, while her slender legs jerked and while we screamed with her voice. This may have gone on for minutes. It felt like an hour. Maybe it was a day. Maybe time stood still.

Then she began to calm, and I with her. She led me out my mind's door and back into my own head as I felt the phallus shrink to its original shape, and she began to ease it out of her. It felt hard on my dick then, no longer a part of me. And as she slipped it off, I could see my penis covered with my own cum. My cum had never left the phallus, had never filled her womb. And yet I was still convinced that somehow, something did.

She finished removing the phallus from me and turned it upside down like a flask. She wiped the remaining cum off my dick and scraped it back inside the phallus with her finger. She did this carefully, not spilling a drop. Once she was done, she put the stopper back in and walked out of my field of vision.

I didn't have to try to move to know I was still frozen. My dick was still rock hard and pointed straight up.

She stayed out of sight for a while, though I could hear her moving around. Then she turned out the light and came to me in the dark. I could hear her drag one of the chairs up to my table. She sat in it and bent over me, touching my temples again with the tips of her fingers. My eyes closed, but she was in my mind with me, as I had been in hers, except she was still the one in control.

I felt her searching then, inside my head. Drawing up erotic memories and setting them aside, tagging them for her use:

(My first time. The back seat of my car with Linda. Fumbling under the chiffon, and I wasn't just remembering it now, I was experiencing it all over again. It was as real as it had been at the time, and even as I was reliving it, as I was tasting Linda's sweetness and as my fingers were wrinkling with all the pussy juice that they were drawing out of her, as I brought her to the first orgasm with just those fingers, I kept enough presence of mind to realize how much I had misremembered this night, how much I had forgotten. It felt like I was reliving it in real-time, but time meant nothing anymore. I almost forgot the woman inside my mind with me, as I fumbled, licked and fucked Linda with all the skill and grace of a sloth. But when I came inside my sweetheart, I heard "Mmmm" in that low, soft voice in the dark.)

(My first night with my ex-wife. Back when we were insanely hot for each other. Almost breaking down the door of her apartment to get in and get naked, nailing her against the wall, and on the floor, never making it to the bed. When I pulled out of her pussy and came in her mouth, and she swallowed what she could, I could feel the black woman's breath on my neck. In the same way that I felt both of us when I was wearing the phallus, I could feel both of me in my relived sex with my ex, and with what was happening now in the room.)

The black woman stroked my chest as her face was beside mine. I breathed in and she breathed out. I could taste her breath and I wanted it to taste like my semen. And the moment I had that thought, she chuckled.

(A story I never told anyone, what happened in Bangkok. I had always told myself that I had thought the little t-boi was a girl when I took her back to my hotel room, but reliving it now, I know that wasn't true. I got excited all over again as I rubbed her hard tits. And when she finally lifted her dress with her little penis tucked between her legs and offered me her ass, I took it. And as I fucked her again, the excitement gripped me all over again as her little micro-penis fell free and wagged over her tiny balls as I pressed against her prostate and gave her a sissy-gasm. Once I had cum in her, I suddenly wanted her gone, so I had thrown her out of the room. But the black woman replayed this one again and again, just the part where I was fucking her and cumming in her pretty ass-pussy, her sissy cum drooling in a sticky strand and slinging side to side from her clitty-dick. And by the time we were done reliving it, I didn't care, I didn't have any shame, I just wanted to fuck that young thing all over again.)

(The goth girl at work. How she spread her tattooed legs for me on her back and just said, "fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme" the whole time I pounded into her and came in her, and how she held me inside her until I was limp, and how even then, she took my limp penis in her mouth like a pacifier until she fell asleep. And how I got hard again in her mouth and fucked her mouth and throat and she pretended to sleep through the whole thing, except she couldn't resist to roll her tongue around on me. She swallowed a little of my cum, and the rest drooled out of her mouth. She made me promise to hold her the rest of the night, and I did for a while.)

My first blowjob. My hundredth. Some girl I had forgotten completely whom I had met in a bar. My secretary, an older woman hungry for touch, willing to do anything, her on her knees, proving it. My cousin, giggling behind the barn. My black mistress found them all and we relived them. I don't know when we slept, or if we slept. I do remember milking her again, drinking from her again, more than once. Perhaps twice? Maybe a dozen times?

And one more thing. A thing that happened again and again. She took me through the bright door into her mind. Each time, she had the phallus in her hands, and she was on her bed, slipping it inside her, letting it fill her. I could see my body on the table, but I knew my cum was inside the phallus, inside her, and she let me cum with her again. And again. Her legs shaking the bed. Her shouts.

...

It was dark, and I was riding with my new friend. I had fallen asleep in his jeep, and I woke when we hit one of the bigger potholes.

"What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

But I did. I remembered everything. Everything except how it ended, how I got here. "Did I call you?"

"She called me. I had given up on you."

"What time is it?

"You should be asking what month it is. You've been gone for three."

I was shocked. And I was not. I looked out the window as my thoughts gathered. Then I asked, "Can we go back? I'm not ready for it to be over."

"No." he said, "We can't go back."

"And no." he said, "It's not over."