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My fingers penetrated her deeply as my mouth tortured her clit and she shrieked loudly as her hips began a wild hunching movement, fucking my fingers as my tongue instilled a madness in her mind. I loved it, loved the power I felt to make her cum at will and to keep her hanging in heaven until I allowed her to breath again. My tongue found her asshole and raped it, licked at it stiffly until wet, then my fingers slid inside it and I fucked her there as my tongue probed her pussy and again sucked at her clit. I became so aroused I cum myself as she gripped my head tightly, hunching hard into my fingers up her ass and my entrenched tongue in her pussy. Then as my arousement waned and I realized my surroundings, I rose and kissed her, grabbed some paper towels and wiped myself off and quickly left as she lay across the counter holding her pussy and moaning loudly. God I thought, what kind of sex driven slut have I become? I felt dirty, like my inner slut was taking over my psyche, pushing the person I was from my being and replacing her with a wanton nymphomaniac.
That night I was lying in my bed recalling the day’s events and I felt so bad knowing what I had done. But even as troubled as my mind was at the cause of my actions I was still filled with a hunger and pleasure each time I thought of the mans hands holding my head as he forced his hot jism into my throat. And the experience with the counter girl had definitely opened a new door in my life. I tried to examine the feeling that came over me for some explanation of my actions, but I was at a loss to understand why I would have acted so slutty. I had felt like a trance came over me and some evil being took control of my mind and body that I couldn’t resist. My body seemed to act on it’s own volition even as my mind was crying out in opposition.
Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I wondered how low I would fall into the abyss of carnality I seemed to be careening into. What strange desires would I next manifest when in the presence of a black man, and in what way would I allow myself to be used and humiliated I pondered. I made a conscious decision that I would never do anything like that again and with that I drifted off to a troubled sleep. In my dreams I found myself naked running down the street, pulling at every black man I saw and begging him to use me to sate themselves with my body. And when I looked at their faces they were blank except for the eyes, the eyes of my mysterious exhibitionist turned lover. And then his face loomed at me, the face from the coffee house that had smiled at me but I had forgotten because of the intense passion that drew me to his eyes. His eyes were like a vortex of need and desire that drew me into them and roiled my mind and body before then spitting me out the other side.
I awoke with a start when confronted with his face. I lay there for long minutes remembering his features, the lips in particular, not thick like many Black men but almost like a white man’s. His nose was smaller also than most blacks I surmised as I replayed his image in my mind, must have white blood in his line somewhere I guessed.
I found myself again thinking of my mysterious lover until my racing mind finally exhausted itself and I again slept. Only this time in my dreams my mystery man was making slow sweet love to me, his hands trailing over my body as his lips sucked and licked at me driving me to near madness with need. And my hands clasped his weighty manhood, pulling at it with a desperate need to feel it once again within me, filling me with his hot seed. I was begging him to take me to sate the devils that he had instilled within my mind and body from that first day.
But instead he rolled away from me and motioned for someone and to my horror many black men began grabbing my body, holding my thighs open widely and they crawled one after the other between my white thighs and planted their hot seed deep inside me as I screamed at first in terror and then in passionate lust as my body betrayed me once again and my mouth screamed for them to fuck me harder, deeper, more violently as my hips hunched wildly up to their largest and hardest cocks.
He stood and watched as they used my ass, pussy and filled my stomach with their molten juices until all were sated and then he placed his gargantuan cock at my mouth and ordered, "Suck it bitch!" I wanted his cum. Even after all that I still needed to please him, no other mattered. I sucked him with a frenzy, forcing him into my throat as my head twisted and turned, my hands following my head on its travels up and down his thick black shaft. Then with his hands on his hips and his cock out-thrust he said, "Suck it hard slut, eat my ball juice like the white cum slut you are" and I did, I sucked load after huge load of his cum down into my stomach as I pumped it from his cock, my hands squeezing his balls to elicit each hot spurt until empty he withdrew and said, "Till next time slut" and he was gone.
I awoke soaked with perspiration, my heart beating wildly and my pussy felt wettened and I cried. I cried with the realization that I was just a piece of meat to my mysterious black lover, someone to be used and then cast away like a used condom, spent, of no use to anyone once filled with his hot cum. I hated this person I had become but deep inside me I knew I was helpless to overcome the forces that gripped me when in his presence. Somehow he had become my owner and I his slave, a slave that worshipped at the altar of his cock. It was true; his cock was like an African idol that I worshipped, a phallic symbol in my mind of the control it represents over my thoughts and actions.
Every time I see a black man now I feel the pleasure his cock imparted to me and I am drawn to the man, drawn to please him, to service all his bodily needs and desires. My mind seems to fog with the need for every black man to want me as he did that first day. I crave the need I saw in his eyes as his manhood stood proudly, throbbing his desire for me, captivating my every thought with the intenseness of his ache. I have never been wanted so badly by anyone as he seemed to want me that day and watching him spurt his seed in public, unable to constrain his balls I now know the fog of lust that gripped his mind. Somehow the demon that inhabited him had crossed the distance between us and now inhabits my mind also. Now his need is mine and we are tied together for eternity, my life forever altered.
It has been a week since my last outpouring of lust in the coffee shop and I have been too embarrassed to return yet. What do you say to someone that you shared so intimate a time with but can’t even remember her name? Will she expect me to return to the restroom and repeat my performance with her and will I, will the sight of her unleash a torrent of desire in my mind as a black man does now also? I feel a throbbing in my groin each time I remember us in the stall and her upon the counter. I know I want to feel her body again, but not in the stall again, but in my bed. Remembering how I thrilled at the thought of being discovered there with her, the sweet fear adding to our excitement, and in the recesses of my mind I knew I would do it again if given the chance, so I had been avoiding the place lately. I thought maybe if I concentrate on my studies I might return to being the person I was.
C
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