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Leasa Ch. 01

By: LeasaJ



My name is Leasa.  I work in Silicon Valley at a well know software firm as a marketing manager.  I am 5’7”, 118 and blonde and blue eyed.  At 30 I’ve kept my body in good shape: 36C-24-35.  Needless to say, I was voted prettiest girl in both my high school and my college senior class.

Because of this most men have always been awkward and hesitant to approach me.  I never had to learn to say “no” because the men were usually too insecure to approach me.

I met my husband in the Valley, fell in love and got married last fall.  Shortly thereafter a much older, black maintenance man at my company, named Amos, started flirting with me and asking me out to lunch.

I, of course, would decline as politely and diplomatically as I could but I always felt awkward doing so.  

I told my husband about this but he would just laugh it off and joke about it.  After all, he had seen Amos and knew he was well over 60, fat, missing a tooth or two, and just a homely man.

Then, after a few weeks of this, one day Amos kind of cornered me in one of the hallways when no one else was around.

“Hey sweets, you ready to go to lunch wit me yet?’ he asked with a big smile showing a few missing teeth.

“Amos, now you know I’m married and...uh...you know...it ...uh...well...it wouldn’t be right,” I stammered.  But my hesitation just seemed to make him work harder at his objective.

“Aw, c’mon baby, give a man a break.  I’s just wants to take you to lunch.  Don’t make an old man feel put down!” he said with this pained look on his face. 

I knew he was playing with me but still it all felt so awkward and difficult.

“Well...I can’t really...”

“Baby, just one time!” he cut me off.  I tried to think fast but all I could finally muster was:

“Now Amos you know that...”  As I spoke I noticed him looking at my breasts off and on.  Slowly—I don’t know how—I began to notice my nipples becoming erect.  “Damn!” I thought, I hope he doesn’t notice.  But in my peripheral vision I could see they really were sticking out prominently against the fabric of my sheer blouse.

I lost my train of thought as he looked time and time again at my growing nipples.

“C’mon baby, ya can’t says no forever,” he smiled, obviously noticing my body’s inexplicable arousal.

Finally, I just ran out of  energy and ideas of how to refuse.

“Well...alright...but really just once...and please...you know...this is just as friends...ok?”

With a big smile, Amos responded: “You bet baby, just a one time date, I know”

“DATE!!!!” I thought.  This isn’t a date!!!  But I couldn’t muster anything that would come out of my mouth.  Under  this old black man’s verbal onslaught I just stood there half smiling: confused and angry I had so easily been talked into this.

As I backed away to take leave I noticed the bulge running down the left leg of his pants.  My eye first glanced and then had to take a full look to see if what I thought I saw was what I really saw.  It was!  

Amos’ cock ran more than half way down to his knee and tented out from his pants obscenely.  He saw me looking but just smiled and continued looking straight into my eyes.  Then reaching over took my hand and said:  “I really, really looking forward to this Leasa baby.  I know you is too.”

Somehow my hand just responded and held his for a second as I reached to say something, anything to slow him down and get out of this whole thing.  But all I could muster was...

“Y-y-yes, Amos...I guess...I guess I am too...”  I looked down again and found myself staring at the monstrosity that was his manhood, struggling to pull my eyes off it and leave.  He still held my hand. And I still held his.  

Slowly I came back to reality, let go of his clutches and pulled away.

He let go and backed off.  A huge smile across his ape-like face.  

“See you tomorrow then sweet meat,” he called as he backed off to go on his way.

“O, Ok...” I mumbled.  I felt confused and dizzy as I turned and walked to the door that opened to the next hallway.  In the reflection of the glass door I could see this big, black man just standing there watching me as I walked down the hallway.

For some reason I could not understand I found my heart pounding and my knees shaking.  

Then almost unconsciously I began a slightly, ever so slightly, exaggerated sway to my hips and ass as he watched intently.  Why was I doing this!!! What was I thinking???  I had no--and have no--idea.  But I did it.  And as I did I looked into the door’s glass to see his refection reaching down, stroking the serpentine bulge running down his left inseam.

I walked through the doors and felt dizzy, faint.  I went straight to the Ladies Room and into a booth.  I thought, “God, I feel like I have to pee!”  But when I peeled down my nylons to go I noticed a big wet splotch in the crotch.  I sat on the toilet just staring into the crotch.  Was I actually sexually excited by this pathetic old maintenance man?  Did he have me this hot just by his flirting with me?

My questions were soon answered as I found myself leaning back on the seat, my knees falling wide open, my fingers reaching unconsciously for my clitty and starting to work the stiff standing bud--furiously!

My eyes closed, I could only see Amos’ huge dick distorting the leg of his pants, trying to break free to get at—me!  

Oh!  So hot!  My fingers worked furiously.  I started making high squeaking sounds as I neared a major orgasm.  Then it broke and I had to stifle a scream.  My fingers were flooded with my juice in a way no man had ever before been able to make me cum.

When it was done I sat on the toilet.  Stunned, dumbfounded.  What had happened to me?  Could it be?  Could I be attracted to this laughable, old black?

As in a trance, I tried to wipe my now sore pussy dry, get myself together and go back to my desk.

But all day I was distracted by my shock that I’d excepted Amos’ invitation.  And, of course, by my body’s arousal.  What had come over me?  What would my husband think if he ever knew?  

All day I tried to work...but my nipples continued to ache and my pussy lips remained swollen, leaking their excitement into the crotch of my hose.

I got no work done all day. 

*********

That evening when I got home Andy asked me how my day had gone and why I seemed so quiet.  I couldn’t say much, still confused and bewildered over the day’s happenings.  

That night as I lay in bed waiting on him, he came into the bedroom naked.  Looking confidently at me and smiling, he strode toward the bed.  But all I could think of was how ridiculous he looked with his man-sized body and, seemingly, child sized penis and testicles.

After he climbed into bed he started to mount me.  As usual I had to help guide his 4 inch penis into me.  Strangely I felt almost repulsed by his naked body.  Somehow it seemed deficient in some masculine way.  Only later did I realize I was subconsciously comparing his manhood to Amos’.

He began to hump into me and then slipped out.  “God, he’s so little,” I caught myself thinking.

I put him back in and he began again.  By the third or fourth hump he began grunting and going through the usual gyration of his orgasm.

I found myself annoyed.  All this grunting and bluster about what I knew was a drip of semen.  When I had given him oral sex in the past, I found I often didn’t even know when he came—except for all the grunting and writhing around—because his cum was so minimal.

After he stopped, he rolled over and was snoring in minutes.  It was then I realized how pathetic our sex life was.

As he snored away I closed my eyes and found myself seeing Amos’ bulge down the inseam of his trousers.  Its length and thickness.  Its power, nearly ripping through his pants...for me.  All of that size and urgency because of  his desire, his lust, for me.

Soon my hands were beneath the covers working furiously again at my clit.  Sore as the bud was I needed relief from my growing excitement.

As Andy snored my hand worked away and my legs spread ever wider.  I was building toward a fantastic explosion.  

I could hear the sticky squishing of my fingers as they worked away at my flooding channel.

Then it broke!!!  Wave after wave of pure passion!!!

“OOOhhh!!!!!!”  I  half moaned, half screamed, again and again, as I rode multiples of my lusty, mind numbing orgasms.

When I was done I lay there in a sweat panting heavily trying to regain myself.

Andy continued snoring and I fell off into a deep sleep.

***********

The next day at lunch I honestly hoped Amos would forget all about it.  But it was foolish of me to think he would.

“Ready for our date?” he said as he ambled up to my desk.

I wanted to scream, “THIS ISN’T A DATE!!!” and just explain to him it was “just” lunch.  But nothing came out of my mouth.  I just smiled weakly.  Inside I just didn’t want a scene; plus, I knew it would do no good.  He would never listen.

As we walked out to his car in the parking lot I could feel his hand gently on the small of my back.  “Unbelievable!  This old, black, maintenance man has the gall to put his arm around me,” I thought to myself.  But again, I couldn’t bring myself to object and create some kind of scene or confrontation.  So I let it go.

By the time we got within a few feet of his car I could feel him becoming bolder and definitely let his hand rest on my lower back.  He now definitely had his arm around me.

He opened the door of his old , dirty ’89 Cadillac for me and let me slide in.  As I did I noticed his eyes taking a nice long, obvious look up under the short leather mini skirt I was wearing.   Why had I worn this sexy little skirt, I thought to myself.

But as I waited for him to go around to his door, I realized my heart was beating heavily in my chest.  I’d liked that he looked up my skirt. As he slid in his side of the car I smiled over meekly at him.

He looked into my eyes, smiled then turned and started the engine.  After we backed out and turned onto the road he casually put his big, black hand onto my knee, squeezed it gently and said: “You joinin’ me today a dream come true, Leasa.”

My heart bled for him.  It was such a nice thing to say.  I felt guilty for all the laughing my husband and I had done about his flirtations.  This poor beast really admired me so.  I wanted to remove his hand from my knee—it was completely inappropriate—but after he said that...I just couldn’t.  I was afraid I’d hurt his feelings.

So he drove on with his hand on my knee.  Occasionally, running it slightly up to my lower thigh.  

I kept coming right to the point of saying stop.  But it was so casual, so slight, I never quite felt he’d gone over the line.

Yet as we approached the bar & grill he was taking me to for lunch, I suddenly thought, “What in the hell am I doing sitting here in a broken down old caddy with an old, black man—one my husband and I used to laugh about—letting him rest his hand on my knee and occasionally stroke my thigh like I was his damn white whore or something!!!”

I felt somewhat stupefied and dazed as he opened the car door for us to enter the “Soul Train” Bar & Grill.  All I could think of was how could I have let this all happen and what am I doing here.

As we walked to the back door entrance from the parking lot something else bothered and alarmed me.  The warm wetness I felt again in the crotch of my hose...obviously brought on from Amos’ gentle handling of my knee and thigh.

“What is happening to me, “ I wondered.

*************** 

As we walked into the seedy bar Amos suddenly grabbed my hand, holding it in his as if I really was his woman.  My immediate reaction was to pull it away but as we walked through the bar area and all the patrons—who were older, seedy looking, black men—stared at us, I felt I didn’t want to create an embarrassing situation.

Besides the way the place quieted down and these old men stared at me, some with their jaws agape, made me feel something strange that I didn’t understand at first.  But as we walked by them I found myself slowly holding Amos’ hand more firmly.  I also found myself standing tall, strutting somewhat, beside and slightly behind him...somehow proud of their admiration—even awe—of me.  And especially in awe of the fact that I was being paraded about hand in hand by their buddy Amos.

I quickly found my nipples betraying me again as Amos paraded me in front of his buddies on the way toward our booth.  They poked out prominently as these old men ogled my bouncing breasts.  Damn! I thought.  Why did I wear such a sheer bra.

But in the back of my mind I knew this was strangely exciting me against my will.  I enjoyed these old blacks staring and looking me up and down, licking their lips lustfully.  And I was also excited by how Amos glowed with pride to be with this young, shapely blonde.  Hand in hand, showing her off as his ‘date’ for all his horny, old, pals to envy.

We stopped along the way as Amos introduced me to one or two of his buddies as his “lunch date”.  As he’d say this, I’d at first feel my temper rising that he would introduce me as his date...then somehow it would melt away as these men would look me up and down and whistle.  

“Well, Amos, you doin’ awright, man!” one said.  I found myself blushing.  As I did, I could feel Amos lightly squeezing my hand.  Unbelievably, I found myself giving his hand a slight squeeze back.

“What was I doing!?!” I screamed to myself.  But as I stood there smiling demurely behind him—behaving every inch the role of his woman—I found myself shyly looking to the floor as his buddy would occasionally glance over from their conversation, obviously checking out my tits and my now obscenely protruding nipples.

Why couldn’t I get control of this situation I would keep thinking to myself.  But then Amos would lead me to the next buddy for a quick intro, almost like a warrior showing newly won spoils of battle to his countrymen.  

And somehow it aroused me.

Soon Amos led me to our booth.  When I sat down, rather than sitting opposite me, he slid in beside me on my side of the booth.

 As we looked at the menu, Amos once again placed his large black hand onto my knee.  After squeezing it slightly, he resumed the slow, ever so slight stroking of my lower thigh.  This obviously impressed his pals sitting at the bar who could see from their vantage point everything going on above and below the booth table.

I became very angry that he would show me off like his whore in this way and decided I would put and end to it right then and there.

After mustering some courage I slowly put my hand under the table and placed it on his.  Slowly I held his hand and squeezed it gently.  My way of saying, please stop.  

Amos, gently squeezed my hand back, held it for a few seconds, then amazingly let go and proceeded to rub my thigh—even more blatantly and higher than before!  I couldn’t believe it.  I suddenly realized that this uncouth and uneducated black Neanderthal misread my signal as one of encouragement!!!

Now what could I do?  I was angry and frustrated, but also somewhat defeated.  I couldn’t think of how to stop this short of a confrontation that I didn’t feel up to at all considering the environment I was in and the exhibition Amos and I had just put on for all these onlookers.

His hand was now stroking from my knee to well up under my leather mini.  He was now sliding his hand just inches from my moistened pussy.  At times he would reach under and grab a handful of my thigh, then run his hand back down to my knee.  Then up again under my skirt.  Which was slowly becoming bunched up around my waist.  All the while the men at the bar staring intently and at times whispering to each other.

I felt like some erotic night club act the way these men openly stared at Amos’ pawing of my thigh.

Then Amos looked over at me and looked into my eyes.  I had no idea what to expect as I looked into his homely old face.  Without warning he leaned over and put his thick, black African lips to mine!

“Oh my God!” my mind screamed.  This can’t be happening to me!  No, no, no!!!  Please God, let me wake up from this nightmare!  

But this was no dream to wake up from.

I could feel his thick lips pressing mine and working my lips slowly, confidently, erotically open.  And then the warm wetness of his long, thick snaking tongue into my mouth.

I hesitantly was trying to push him away but my hands just touched his chest.  They froze in place and didn’t push at all.

Why would he just start so confidently frenching me in front of this crowd?  My mind struggled to think of what to do as my mouth was being worked open by Amos’ oral ministrations.  

But then I realized what had spurred him on to do what he did as his hand continued stroking high up under my skirt.  I realized that the moment he looked over at me he had just reached high enough up my thigh to feel my spreading wetness.

My wetness told him I was now his.  

And his tongue continued to push through my lips and coil around my tongue.  And I admit my lips, so little at first I hardly noticed, began to work back.  My mind felt like it was going blank, surrendering as I began, finally, kissing him back hungrily.  Offering my tongue fully to him with complete abandonment—for all to see.

Then he took hold of my arm and without pausing from our passionate frenching put it around his neck.  I needed no more encouragement.  I began stroking his neck, the back of his old balding head with a passion I’d never had before while making out with any man...including my husband.

I felt Amos begin to stroke my face and then let his hand slide down to my breast.  At first stroking it, then beginning to paw it heavily.  Soon Amos was grotesquely mauling my tits through my sheer blouse.  Squeezing them and pinching my swollen nipples.  He continued tweaking my nipples even pulling them out obscenely, I am sure to impress his leering pals at the bar with his command over the white blonde he was conquering and making into his whore right in front of them.

As we now were slobbering into each others mouths we noticed a man standing next to the booth.  It was an older black man whom apparently Amos knew and who owned the bar.

As we stopped our tonguing and looked up at him, Amos’ hand still working away at my tit, he said, “Why don’t you two take it to the back room”.  And then he threw a key onto the table and walked away.

Amos picked it up and began pulling me by the hand from the table toward a room in the back of the bar.

As I rose from the table I could see my blouse was half undone and my leather mini skirt was embarrassingly bunched up around my waist more like a thick belt than a skirt.  As I tried to push it down with my free hand I realized every man at the bar could see the large wet spot on my crotch.  They now all knew how wet I was for Amos.

As Amos pulled me to the back room, I could see these old blacks rubbing their dicks through there pants and mumbling obscenities about me as we passed by them.

In shock I thought to myself, “God, I really have become this old, black man’s whore.  Can’t I even say no to an over sexed, black maintenance worker?”

***********

When we got into the back room Amos closed the door and faced me.  Right then and there I wanted to say no more take me home.  But he just grabbed me into his arms and began kissing me deeply.  I responded immediately this time, my tongue exploring his mouth.

When he broke away from my arms he shoved me back onto a  half-bed, half-cot in the office.  He looked down at me and began unbuttoning his shirt.  “Get undressed, “ he commanded, almost casually.

I hesitated for a long  moment.  I wanted to say no.  I thought of my husband.  Then I pictured him walking toward me in the bedroom with his infantile genitalia swinging between his legs.


Leasa Ch. 01



I began unbuttoning my blouse.  Soon I had undone my bra, slid it off, and began sliding out of my skirt.  

Meanwhile, Amos was done removing his clothes and I could hear him grunting approval at my free swinging breasts as I continued removing my skirt and shoes.  

In the corner of my eye I could see his enormous uncut, dick bobbing its head approvingly at my nakedness—just inches away from my face.  I looked up at it and became transfixed staring at this massive black organ.  It appeared almost alive, bobbing its huge bulbous head, covered by thick flaps of skin, and drooling precum profusely.

I thought it was hideous, yet gorgeous in some inexplicable way--and it just drove my heart wild with growing excitement!

Amos reached over and began peeling down my panty hose.  As he did we could both see the huge wet splotch my excitement had deposited into the crotch.  They were ruined.  Ruined from my uncontrolled lust for this black janitor.

Completely naked now I lay back on the cot and looked up at him.  His incredible dick stood out from him now, curving at an 80 degree angle from his body.  It was at least a foot long and  5 inches around.  I never imagined any horse, much less a man, could be so big.

As I laid there staring at it and he down at me, I lifted my gaze finally to his eyes.  We looked deep into each others eyes and, as we did, I slowly lifted and spread my legs, inviting him into me.

He knelt onto the bed and positioned his meaty, African weapon into place against my swollen and soaked pussy lips.  One thrust forward and he was into me three inches.  As he began truly mounting me—slowly pulling out and more quickly plunging back in--each thrust brought more and more of him into me.  It seemed the depth of his penetration would never end.

I grunted with each spear-like thrust.  I felt skewered by this black stallion of a man.  And he continued now with greater speed and power.

Finally, he brought his arms down under my thighs and bent me back, my legs over his shoulders.  At this point he seemed like a man possessed.  

He hissed:  “I wanted a white bitch like you in a position like dis all my life.  Now you's go’ get it, you fuckin’ white, trash ‘ho!!!”

At this he began slamming his dick into me without mercy!  

Slap, bam! Slap, bam! Slap, bam!!!  

As he slammed his oversized organ deep into my womb he also slammed me and the whole bed into the wall.  The racket we made between his body slapping into mine, the bed slamming into the wall, and my ooohhs and ahhhss with each penetrating hump was creating a loud racket.

Through the walls I could hear the black patrons all whooping it up in the bar, cheering, whistling, laughing, and shouting all matter of lewd and crude remarks about the blonde bitch old Amos was “givin’ some bone to”.  

They were cheering on there old homey who they could now clearly hear banging the living shit out of some uppity blonde wife from Silicon Valley.  They were just loving it!

And so was I...as the pounding I was receiving drove on and on.  All I could think was, “Oh my God, how can he do it?  How can he keep up this pace?”

Slam! Slam! Slam!  He drove on giving me more and more of a ramming from his awesome ebony weapon.  Slam! Slam! Slam!  I felt I was being ridden by some kind of black bronc buster who would ride his blonde mare until she was completely broken, subdued.  Bam! Bam! Bam!  He was slamming away at greater and greater speed and power.

After five to ten agonizing minutes of Amos’ pounding into my aching pussy, I felt an enormous orgasm building.  It built very quickly and then erupted in flashing light for me.  I soon realized I was screaming, clutching him to me, my legs wrapped up around his pumping ass,  his hips still pounding madly into my vaginal channel, breaking my pussy wide open like no man had ever done.

Soon his grunting began and then came one final, very hard slam deep into my pelvis.  Like molten lava I could feel him spewing himself deep into my womb.

I knew he was impregnating me right at that moment.

And I knew I would forever be his for the rest of my life.

When he was done I looked up at him, pulled his head down to me, put my lips to his and kissed him deep and long.  My tongue snaked into his mouth.

We kissed deeply for minutes.  When our lips softly parted I whispered to him, “I love you.”

His big homely, black face broke into a huge grin.

“Likes I told you, babe,” he said,  “if you just give dis nigga a chance, I make you one happy, lil’ slut for black dick.”

He slowly withdrew what appeared to me a black, slimy python from my still clutching pussy lips.  He pulled out with a pop as my pussy was now so agitated with lust for him it did not want to let him go.

As he turned his back to me and lit a cigarette, I sat up and leaned on one arm just gazing at him.  He was fat, his big black ass cheeks sagged from behind, and his gut bulged even from the sides.  He didn’t have love handles, they were more like saddles.  

Then as my gaze lowered, between his skinny, bow legs hung the most enormous, out-sized pair of balls I have ever seen.  They hung a full half a foot down from his groin.  They were easily the size of tennis balls.  

As I just sat transfixed looking at these big, hairy things I concluded again that for sure this man had just seeded me.  I would certainly be mothering his child within the year.  No woman could receive a discharge from a pair of testes of these dimensions without being  fertilized.

As my admiring gaze continued, I could see that hanging even below his elephantine balls was a still semi hard, horse-like cock.  It hung its still swollen head down at least 3 inches below his low slung balls.  And hanging from the uncircumcised cock head was a gooey rope of  semen still drooling from his dick.

As he turned to me I was almost shocked by his ugliness.  His gut was huge, his smirk revealed some missing teeth, some gold teeth, his nose flat and wide across his face, and his genitalia were just plain ‘abnormal’ in their size.  

But in my eyes all I could see was an incredibly masculine, African tribal chief who had just seeded his white slave girl.  And he did it as only an African chieftain could.  Violently and completely!

I realized that this African specimen of a man was far different, far more powerful than any of the white ‘boys’ I had been with before.

And I wanted more...

************

 Let me know if YOU’d like more too.



Leasa Ch. 02



Leasa  Silicon Valley’s ‘Blonde4Blacks’

Chapter 2

Amos strutted over to the cot I was laying on.  Standing with his hands confidently on his hips he said: “Get dressed.  Time to go.”

Still leaning on one arm I leisurely reached out and grasped the base of  his love club and positioned the nozzle to my lips.

I looked up at Amos and gave the large, limp hunk of meat a big kiss.  

He smiled and said, “You my wife now.”

What could I say?  We had just shared an act that should only be shared between husband and wife.  

In response, I just began kissing his weapon all down along its thick, veiny barrel.  It was my way of giving silent agreement to Amos’ pronouncement.

As I kissed down along the barrel of his dick, I soon found my face buried in his thick, brillo-like pubic hair.  I inhaled and drank in the strong musky scent of him...my Man.  And I loved it.

I reached down and palmed his large, meaty balls.  I lifted them and began kissing and licking them.  These were the vessels that would produce my first beautiful, black baby, I thought.  I licked and loved them fully.

Then I turned my attention back to the thick knob of  Amos’ immense dick.  I opened my lips and engulfed  it—with some difficulty.  I found myself beginning to milk his cock with both my wet lips and my tugging hand.

Soon he was growing in my mouth;  so much so, that I was soon straining my jaws to still contain him.  My nostrils flared to allow me to breathe with his ever swelling muscle of manhood half down my throat.

At  this point I was now sitting up on the edge of the bed to get my head high enough to continue to contain his now stiff standing shaft in my mouth.

Amos’ then stepped back from the bed pulling me along by his dick, lips first, till I fell on my knees in front of him; still desperately working at his fleshy organ.

“No sittin’ down on the job, bitch,” he grunted.  Then he casually placed his hand behind my head guiding it as it bobbed back and forth on the end  of  his thick, rock-hard tool.

The door opened and the old man who gave us the keys of the room entered to tell Amos he needed the room back.  Mid way through his request he stopped as he saw me on my knees sucking away sloppily at  the fat, abnormal cock Amos had stuffed into my straining mouth.

As I continued my duties, I could here Amos snigger to the man: 

“Hey Roscoe, I promised the girl lunch, didn’t I?  Well, as you can see, IT’S CHOW TIME!”

They both laughed uproariously while I ignored their degrading joke and continued sucking and yanking on the succulent, juicy, African “chow” Amos was treating me to. 

Soon I could feel  the old man’s dick really stiffen, like steel.  He began grunting as the meaty muscle in my mouth expanded frighteningly and then spewed a thick load of molasses-like spunk down my throat.  I began gagging, but Amos now held me tightly be the hair not letting me slide off his ballooning, ebony schlong.

Soon the thick jism filled my mouth and began seeping out around my lips which were still stretched lewdly around the immense circumference of his cock.

I heard him begin to chuckle at me between his lustful grunts:
“That was the drink I promised you, babe.  To wash down all that meat, eh?”

He laughed out loud at that and let me pull my mouth off him and finally breathe.  

I fell back against the bed, just sitting there on the floor looking up at him.  Still dumbfounded at all that had happened, all this man had gotten me to do, in the last hour.  

My lips were coated with the thick gloss of his cum.  Some had sprayed onto my cheeks and into my hair.  And as I sat there, licking the thick salty goo from my lips, I could feel a rope of cum drool hanging, swinging, from my chin.

He looked down at me.  “You a fuckin’ mess when you eat, girl.  Don’t know if I’ll be able to take your ass out anywhere, least anywhere wheres respectable peoples go.”

He stepped up to me grabbed his dick and used the cudgel to scoop up the string of cum drool from my chin and then spooned his dick into my mouth as if feeding a baby.  I opened wide and took him in  and sucked the baby making nectar from his meaty, black ladle.

Black men taste so good, I thought.  

I cleaned his dick off thoroughly and then started kissing it all over again when he pulled away and started to get dressed.

He through a towel in my face and told me to clean up, lunch was over.

I wiped my face off and slowly got dressed .  When I was done, I asked Amos if there was some other way out so we didn’t have to pass all those men outside in the bar.

He looked at me in stony silence:  “Why, you ashamed a somthin”?”

“N, ... no...no just...well...they all heard and know that...you know...Amos...Amos, please...I ...I don’t want...”  He slapped me suddenly twice. A quick bitch slap, first front, then back of the hand. 

Then said:

“Don’t you ever act like yo’ white trash ass is shamed a bein’ with Amos Jackson!  You understand, bitch!”

No man had ever done that to me before.  I held my face and cowered.  I wasn’t sure if he’d do it again.  I was frightened.  But also...respectful.  Here was a man.  One who I now understood would take no shit from me.  None period!

I had always been able to manipulate men in the past.  White men.  But that would not be the case with this man.  This Black Man.  This black, strong, dominant and very powerful, black African man.

Amos took me by the hand, opened the door, and as we came into the Bar & Grill we left.  Amos pulling me along by the hand and me being led by the hand.  Led by the man who had just completely and irrevocably taken  me as his property in front of the whole bar for everyone to see.

For the first time in my life, I felt a man truly “owned” me.

When we pulled up to the back door of the office building, I asked:  “Amos, please don’t be angry, but will you...will you...,” I was stammerring, trying to find the right words.

“Will I what?”  Amos asked almost sarcastically.

“You know...Will you...well...Will you tell everyone you fucked me?”

He smiled. “Shit no,” he said, “they see youse, a pretty little white thing, dissappearin’ at lunch with a hot buck like me...hell, we’ll let ‘em draw dey own conclusion, eh?”  then he winked and gave me a big, condescending smile.

I felt sick and ashamed of what I had just done for this disgusting old black janitor.  Yet as I opened the car door and was about to step out I couldn’t help myself but to ask:

“Will we be going to lunch again?”

“Baby, I a busy man.  We’ll see.  Bye!”

With that, Amos pulled the door closed and drove off.

I walked to the building, my face red with both anger and humiliation.  How could this have happened to me, I thought.  I’ve just been used by an old, black janitor—and on a simple lunch...”date”.

The rest of the day at work I couldn’t think of anything but how enraged I was with myself and that black animal.  And yet, time and time again I had to slip off to the ladies room.  Enter a booth, slide my nylons down, and relieve the incredible heat between my splayed thighs.

And all I could picture was Amos.  Amos and his incredible, wonderful, African horse-cock.

**********

Let me know what YOU are picturing.  Write me.



Leasa Ch. 03



That night when I got home I was very quiet. I didn't have much to say, plus I was still in shock over all that had happened that day.

Andy, getting out of the shower, began questioning me on what happened at work that day. Finally, I casually mentioned that I went to lunch with Amos.

There was a long silence and then Andy walked over to me and said "What?" in a very loud and very shocked tone of voice.

"What the hell are you thinking about!?!" he yelled, standing over me in an almost threatening way.

"Well, he's very, very persistent," I said. And I said it in a casual, almost teasing, tone. I guess underneath it all I was really very angry. Angry that my husband wasn't man enough to keep me satisfied and at home. Man enough to keep other men at bay. After all, I thought, I had told him this man was making advances and he did nothing. Nothing to protect and defend me—and my honor. An honor that was now gone—taken forever. 

Taken by a black, 65 year old janitor.

"Why didn't you just tell him no!?!"

Andy's voice was rising now. He was almost becoming hysterical. Like a woman, I thought. And he looked so ridiculous again, standing there shouting, naked, with his little genitals flapping and bobbing around like someone had grafted a five year old's privates onto a 30 year old man.

What did I ever see in this man was all I could think. He now seemed so ineffectual, so weak, so impotent...so white.

I just got up undressed and walked into the shower leaving him there saying, "Well...well...are you going to say anything?"

From the bathroom I answered as I shut the door. "No."

I ran the shower, but before stepping in I noticed what my husband must have seen as I disrobed. My back was scraped red from all the rubbing on the back room's cot that Amos had fucked me on. Also, my pussy was red and sore from both Amos' bruising dick and from my own constant masturbating throughout the day as I kept recalling the black man's taking of me.

Andy had to know.

My slight bit of pussy hair was matted with dried semen. In short, I was a mess with recent sex. And even smelled it too.

You could smell the sex all over me, I thought. He knows Amos fucked me. He knows and yet all he does is stand there and get hysterical asking me to say something.

I stepped into the shower and let it rain down on me. As I sat down on the ledge and felt the water splash on my breasts, belly and inner thighs, I began to get horny again.

"God," I thought, "I can't seem to get enough!" I wanted more of something, I kept thinking. As I closed my eyes and let my fingers rub along my once again swollen pussy lips, I dreamed of being taken by an African tribe of huge black men. I imagined them forcing me to do all kinds of unmentionable things. Things I had never before actually done with a man. At least, with a white man. But they were things I was now thinking I would do. At least, do with a black man.

And there was one particular black man, much older, and very persistent, who I thought I might be persuaded to do all of these things with... 

His name was Amos.

That name now sounded like music to me. I wanted him, and his body, so, so much.

As my fantasies about the old janitor continued...I came. Very strongly, almost violently.

"OH...Oh...oh..ooooohhhh. Oh, Amos, Amos, Amos," I mumbled over and over.

That night in bed Andy climbed on top of me and tried to mount me. But couldn't. 

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't even get close to getting hard. It seemed pathetic, as he started just rubbing his limp genitals against my pussy. Then suddenly, rolled off me and began whimpering in our bed.

I thought, does he expect me to comfort him! He disgusts me!!!

How strange, it seemed, that here was a man who laughed at another man approaching his wife, but who now found her being taken from him by this very man. And now this 'laughable' old man was, in effect, emasculating him through the seduction of his wife.

Who is laughing now, I thought.

The next morning as I dressed for work Andy started in again.

"Look I'll forgive you, Ok? But from now on you tell him, 'No'. Understood?"

I looked at him with loathing, "Why don't you come down to work and tell him 'No' yourself. And be a man—for once!"

"Fine. I might do just that!"

"I won't hold my breath...," I said as I walked out.

At work each day, I waited for Amos to find a reason to come up to my department to fix something. I thought for sure he'd find an excuse to see me. But as the days passed, no Amos.

Finally, I began inventing phony reasons to call maintenance to try to get him up in my department. But each time another man would show up. "Damn," I'd find myself thinking, all these sexy outfits, but he doesn't even come up to take a look.

As days passed I began to get angry. "What, does he think he's too good for me!!!!" I would find myself totally distracted and furious. 

"He's a damned, black janitor," I'd think racistly. "He should feel so lucky to have had what I gave him!"

But then, as happens with women, I'd begin to lose my confidence. Maybe I wasn't that good on the cot that day, I worried. Maybe other women he's been with pleased him more. Maybe I can do better next time if I read books on what men like or ask other women. Maybe I should ask some of the black women here at work what they do to please their men.

My thoughts went on and on until I worried myself into knots; convinced that I didn't measure up to the kind of woman that could keep a man like Amos.

But maybe it was true, I just wasn't good enough for him.

Soon I found myself thinking of excuses to go down to the basement to visit the Maintenance Dept.

One Friday I decided I would do it. I would go down to the Maintenance Dept and find out why Amos never followed up and called me again. Find out why this old, toothless, black janitor...dumped me. 

I went down to the Maintenance Dept dressed in a tight knit dress. Very short. With very high, high heels. I wanted to be dressed to kill.

When I knocked on the door I heard Amos' voice say, "C'mon in!"

I opened the door and there he was sitting at a table playing cards with several other black men, all who looked up stunned to see this young, put-together blonde calling on them.

"Amos could I have a word with you?" I asked somewhat demurely.

Amos turned with a big smile to the other men—who returned his smile with their own knowing smiles and chuckles—and said, "Sho' babes. No prob."

As we walked out of the room, Amos turned back to the others just before walking out the door and gave them another knowing smile followed by a lewd wink. They all laughed as we left into the hallway.

At this point my face was already red from embarrassment and anger at being treated like a slut.

When we got down the hallway to an area where we could talk, I turned to Amos and said:

"So, you haven't called...what's the deal about that?" I tried to say it casually, but my anger and nervousness betrayed me and Amos could hear desperation in my voice. I was his.

"Babe, it only been a couple a weeks. Jeez, I didn't think you'd be needin' mo' so soon," he chided me with a big condescending grin.

"Look, cut the condescending crap!!!" My voice rose suddenly. Again, giving away my neediness.

"Whoa, whoa there , baby...You sound like you gettin' a little attitude again. Now you remember what happened last time you got some attitude...you wants some mo' dat?" he said referring to the bitch slapping he had given me in the back room of the bar & grill the day he fucked me.

Then his face lit up, "Then again, maybe dats exactly what you want. Huh, babe. I gots a feelin' you liked it a little rough, eh?" he said, crudely smiling down at me.

My face was red and I found myself somewhat dumbfounded at what he'd just accused me of. Maybe because there was much more truth in it than I cared to admit to myself.

Again, I felt my whole body respond to what Amos had said. As I tried to look down to evade his lewd stare I began to feel my breasts lift and swell. My damn nipples again began to protrude to obscene proportions against the tight fabric of the knit dress I was wearing. And my vaginal lips also were swollen and becoming slick in my nylons.

"Could this be?", I thought. Could I have liked the slapping this brute had given me. I remembered that I did feel so secure that day right after he did it. I felt very much in the presence of a man more powerful, more sure of himself, than I was.

And I liked it.

"I didn't like it," I lied.

"Well, you says no...but dese says, oh yessss," he said as he began grasping my breasts and thumbing the nipples.

I was hot and he knew it, this man who had so quickly, and so easily, become my sexual master. And I so much wanted to please him as his sexual slave.

"Baby, why don't chew gets down and do what chew do best, ay?" he suggested.

"I can't, not here. Anyone could see us," I said, though we were in a fairly secluded area.

"Am I hearin' dat you'd be ashamed about bein' seen wit a black man. We coverin' dis ground gin', baby" Amos said menacingly.

"No...no hon, really. You know that. I've told you how I feel before about that..."

"Well, you's gots to show me," Amos responded with an angry, demanding tone as he stood and waited. Waited for 'his woman' to perform.

After a long pause—and after I could no longer bear the building suspense of his angry stare—I reached out and began unbuckling his belt. Belt unbuckled, I began to undue his waist band and unzip his fly.

Soon I was kneeling in front of him, pulling down his trousers and boxers.

I loved smelling the strong musk of his crotch again. I grabbed his gorgeous, humongous dick and started shucking it. Waking the serpent to life, I thought. After all, it had a job to do—and I was the job he needed to do!!!

I found myself shucking and kissing Amos' meaty dick while still intermittently looking over my shoulder and around the area, afraid any minute someone would walk around the corner and discover us.

My God, I thought. What would I say? A Product Marketing Manager sneaking off into the basement to fellate a janitor!

And I being a newlywed at that!!!

There would be no way to ever explain. Besides, how could I explain this to anyone else? I couldn't even explain it to myself.

Amos' hands were in my hair now directing my head and mouth to their labors.

I began sucking him ravenously, wanting to be sure this time that I fully satisfied this man...my man.

I bobbed my head up and down his thickening shaft in an exaggerated manner, pulling and yanking on the thick African meat he offered me, his white slave girl.

Rolling my tongue under and around the sheathed knob of his uncut dick, I worked furiously at giving this hunk of African manhood as much pleasure as I knew how.

My tongue soon found itself probing the flaps of skin that covered the nozzle of his cock until I began to hear him grunting and mumbling to me...

"That's it you white trash, fuckin' ho'. Do what you was made fo', bitch: suckin' a black man's dick. 'Cause dat alls you good fo' slut—cocksuckin'! Cocksuckin' on black dick!"

I knew as he called me cruder and cruder names that he was getting closer and closer to cumming. So I worked harder; pulling, sucking, licking and occasionally pulling off and kissing his massive organ.

He was like steel now and his bloated weapon started to expand to the exploding point. 

At this point he pulled it out of my mouth and started jacking it in my face.

"Open wide honky trash!" he commanded.

I opened my mouth submissively and waited. Obeying my master like a dog would, I thought.

Then it came!!! Like a dam bursting he unleashed load after load into my mouth; over my face, forehead, hair and then all over the front of my knit dress...seemingly, for good measure.

I was being covered in the spunk that had impregnated me in our first mating, I thought in the back of my lust driven mind.

I reached up and palmed his over sized testicles, and then began to milk them. Trying to draw out more of the thick, milky sauce that I was already drenched in.

My hair was dripping his semen down the back of my neck. It felt hot, burning, with his potent seed. 

What a waste, it seemed to me, of future black manhood. 

I licked the gooey wasted seed still dripping and oozing from his dick. I slavered over it, licking and cleaning my man with all the love of my being.

Amos grabbed his dick away from me and slapped my face with it two or three times: "There dats de bitch slappin' you wanted, eh, babe?" he snickered in the most demeaning way a man could to a woman he knew was now his—completely.

"Shit girl, watch you gonna do with that dress you slobbered all over. Hell bitch, yo' sho' is one pig of a bitch."

I looked down at the thick gooey stain that ran down the entire front of my dress, from the neckline down to my navel. I was fully hosed by Amos' powerful loins.

I began to feel very ashamed. I felt like the very whores I had always gossiped about in school when I was homecoming queen and captain of the cheerleading squad.

Now I was on my knees, having just sucked off a 65 year old janitor, and covered in this black man's cum.

I started crying.

"Oh shit, man, let's not get into that sweet meat," he said, getting irritated.

"C'mon," he grunted as he lifted me up and helped me into a side room off the hallway.

He flicked the light on and said he's help me get cleaned up. He found some paper towels and handed them to me as I wiped my face off and blew my nose. I very much wanted his sympathy...and more.

But he was clearly just trying to get his cheap thrill over with so he could get back to work.

I began to cry again as I toweled my sticky hair.

At that, Amos put his arm around me and said, "Hey sweet meat, I'm sorry. Jus' havin' a lil' fun is all, k?"

I nodded my acceptance of his apology. And he started stroking my neck from behind. It felt gentle and so good. Some tenderness, finally, from this brutish man.

Then his hands came around from behind me and started kneading my tits. First gently, then more roughly. I could feel his hardening dick nudging between my ass cheeks. Even through my dress and his pants, it was so large I could feel every minute detail of its outline, from the veins to the thickening plum-sized knob.

Without any further words or warning, Amos lifted my dress up and over my head.

"Shit, I needs you agin', bitch," he exclaimed.

"Get the bra off.." he demanded. I brought my arms down from trying instinctively to cover my breasts. After pausing a brief moment, I reached behind my shoulder blades and undid my brassiere. I let it slide down my arms to my hands and through it to the floor.

"Get those off," he motioned to my pantyhose even as he was undoing and pulling off his pants.

I peeled down my hose which were wet in the crotch--which had now become so common for me, especially, when around Amos—stepped out of my heels and kicked them off.

Amos had glanced at the wetness in my hose and mumbled, "Horny toad..."

He pulled his shirt off and was naked now except for his boots. I put my heels back on and stood naked before him.

"Turn around and bend over!"

I did as commanded and leaned onto a desk in the shabby room. I felt his fat knob start to rub itself up and down my slick gash.

With little hesitation, he pushed in and then pulled my hips back onto his long thick spear, impaling me with all 12" of his sex.

He began to pound it into me! I felt for sure someone would hear the loud slapping of his hips to my ass, as well as our grunting as we mated violently in the dank room.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Again and again he drove his powerful rod into my sore, but hungry, pussy.

His huge black hands mauled my tits roughly. He pulled and pinched my nipples making me scream in both pain and lust. I felt like a cow being milked by its owner. And I loved it.

Soon the entire room was smelling of our musky mating activity.

Then Amos grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked my head back, slammed deep into me and spewed his molten, black seed deep into my belly.

"You my breeding mare, Leasa baby," he grunted as his stallion sized dick began to swell and spew...and swell and spew...over and over again: delivering its lava-like, African sperm to my womb.

When he was done. He silently, and casually, got dressed and started to leave the room.

"Are you done?" I said sarcastically and angrily.

"Yep," he replied without feeling.

I paused not knowing what to say...my anger drained away as I realized he was about to leave and felt no guilt...and little interest.

"Will I see you again, " I asked, but in such a way that it was clear I was pleading.

"We'll see." he said, and was gone.

I got dressed. Walked out to my car trying to cover the huge stain that ran down my dress and got in. 

As I started to drive out of the lot to go home and change I saw Amos out in the lot with some of the other black maintenance guys laughing and high fiving each other.

I drove home in a daze, recalling how my father would always refer to me as his "Aryan Princess"...

I thought, what if he saw me now. Driving home after having sucked and fucked a black janitor, older than him.

I thought, I should go and visit my dad; get back to my roots.



Leasa Ch. 04



When I got home, I made plans to go to Houston and visit my dad. He was glad to see me and started right in with his "Aryan Princess" comments, etc.

When we met at the airport, my mother wasn't there because she was staying with some relatives in Washington . As I came down to the baggage area, Daddy ran up and held me in his arms and whispered, "Welcome home, Princess."

We went out to dinner and Daddy's eyes never left me all evening. Several times, he reached over and held my hand as if we were something more than just father and daughter. He told me repeatedly how beautiful I looked, never once asking about Andy.

When our black waiter was late with our bill, my father made one of his usual remarks about, "those people!" My parents were fairly well-to-do and had always had a superior attitude toward others. My father had this attitude much more with blacks than my mother did, however. As a child, I remember picking some of this up from them. I laughed to myself: my recent past was certainly erasing any feelings of superiority I may have had regarding blacks—or at least, black men--I thought! 

When we got home, it was late and I went up to my bedroom and began to undress. My door was left only half closed, and I noticed that Daddy, in his room down the hallway, could watch me in his mirror via mine. It was almost a view by proxy of these two bedroom mirrors.

This brought back so many childhood memories of my undressing while Daddy would often watch me from the view afforded by his bedroom-mirror.

From the age of twelve, Daddy would watch as I combed my long blonde hair and casually undressed myself for a bath or for bed.

I remember it strangely exciting to find myself so subtly and secretly admired by the most powerful man in my young life.

Of course, all this was in the back , the very deepest recesses, of my young mind. But still, if I didn't know, I sensed that this was some secret, erotic dance we would perform, so many nights ago, as I blossomed into womanhood.

Even at twelve and thirteen, I would often find my mouth dry and my hands trembling as I began unbuttoning my blouse, seeing my 'almost hidden' admirer watching me fixedly from his mirror's view.

Some nights as I disrobed, I would see his light go out, and I would have no idea what took place as he watched me in the dark of his bedroom.

Sometimes I would hear Daddy's bed creaking gently, but rhythmically, as I slowly disrobed for him. And I often found, as I'd remove my little panties, a dampness in the crotch that I didn't understand.

The next morning, Daddy and I would continue as father and daughter, as if nothing had happened. And in my mind, nothing did...in that I never understood the meanings of our strange ceremony...and never knew that these things didn't happen in other houses.

After all, we were wealthy, very upper middle class, and considered respectable church-goers to any one who knew us.

Since I was very young, Daddy would often come in and sit me on his lap to say good night. As I entered my teenage years, around 14 or so, Daddy's 'good-nights' to me became longer. In fact, our goodnights became so much longer and closer that we would sometimes be together for an hour or more.

Daddy would hold me on his lap and caress the smooth skin of my thigh as he whispered wonderful and loving endearments to me. I was his "Aryan Princess," the "most beautiful girl in Texas," and many other things that made me lightheaded resting in his strong arms.

He would kiss my forehead as he whispered these loving phrases, and soon, his kisses would trail down the slope of my nose, to my cheeks and, ultimately, to my lips. Soft and light at first, but finally building to deep kisses where I could feel the slight trace of his tongue along my lips--sometimes even touching the tip of my tongue.

I was never sure what to do or how to react, so I would close my eyes pretending to be asleep or in some sort of swoon. It was an understanding we both had, that I was not to be fully aware of all this. Or of the soft caresses of Daddy's hands...along my thighs...and under my night shirt, teasing the nipples of my young—but already full—breasts.

Often I'd find, after he'd lifted me into bed, pulled up my blankets and left my room, that my panties had become moist again. Sometimes more than just a moist. Sometimes my exploring fingers found them soaking wet.

My strong sexual drive was already growing rapidly in my early teens, coaxed on by the tender ministrations of my father's hands, and mouth, and lips.

During day hours, as I became sixteen and seventeen, I'd often find Daddy admiring me in the outfits I chose. He loved my style, my look. Tall, blonde, he called it, "Stately". I think that's where all the "Aryan Princess" stuff came from, as well as our Germanic and Scandinavian heritage (our heritage went way back—we were very Americanized over many generations).

I always loved the admiring way he would look me over in my short skirts, or tight jeans and tank tops. It made me feel very beautiful...and very sexy. Of course, I knew better than to ever mention this to anyone. What I felt from my father's looks and glances was something I knew no daughter should feel--from or about her father.

But inside I knew that I did have these feelings. And I liked them.

And so I found myself undressing again, in the same bedroom I grew up in, at the age of 30, and from across the hallway Daddy and I fell into our old custom.

As I combed my hair before my mirror, I wondered what Daddy would think if he knew that his 'Aryan Princess' was now carrying the seed of a 65 year old, black janitor's baby in her belly. I laughed to myself...what if he were to have seen me the other day chasing this old man and submitting to him in a back room at my workplace. Or down on my knees servicing him in a hallway. His 'Aryan Princess' insanely in love with an old janitor's, big, coal-black dick.

I thought it would surely kill him. Poor Daddy...he worshipped me. And yet it was he who probably awakened the early seeds of lust I had for older, forbidden men.

As I continued to comb my hair I felt a love, a lust, and yet...an anger too...at this man who couldn't keep his hands off me since I was just a little, blonde, twelve year old pixie.

That terrible side of a woman came out in me, and I wanted to tease him unmercifully. Make him want me so badly...and then punish him somehow.

I looked into the mirrors and could see him laying on his bed, pretending to read the paper, but really peering over it, into the mirror, at me.

My fingers began to tremble as I placed my brush down, reached up, and began unbuttoning my blouse. 

As I peeled off my blouse, my full breasts, bulging slightly from my brassiere, came fully into view. I played with my hair a little more, putting it up in a pony tail, so as to tease Daddy with the delay. I could see him staring intently at me through the mirrors, his paper lying on his chest, no longer being able to even pretend he was involved with anything...other than watching me.

After fussing with my hair for a few minutes longer, I reached back and undid my bra...but didn't remove it. I let it just sit loosely on my breasts as I pretended to be putting away my jewelry. 

In the mirror, I could see Daddy staring strangely at me, his chest rising and falling heavily, and his hand now roughly stroking his rising crotch.

After a few long minutes of sustaining this suspense, I reached up, casually crossing my arms in front of my chest, and slipped the straps of my bra from my shoulders. It slid down my arms and I placed it on the dresser.

My breasts now stood out, full, soft, and yet, firm. They looked almost too big for my slender frame, almost like they were fake, except for the way they'd swing and move so naturally as I continued to brush my hair.

My father's light went out. The familiar, gentle creaking of his bed began. I knew it was time for my performance for Daddy. A performance I had been practicing since I was twelve. One I had perfected for his enjoyment...and satisfaction.

I stood up from the dresser and turned my back to the mirror. I undid the buckle to my jeans and then pealed them off, bending over to display my naked ass to the mirror—I wore only thong panties. (Did I know I would be performing again for Daddy when I dressed that morning?)

I looked over my shoulder to the mirror and rubbed my prominent ass cheeks (men have always told me I have a superb ass), and then pulled my thong up into my crack--in an exaggerated way--before turning back again toward the mirror.

The rhythmic creaking of Daddy's bed grew faster and louder.

I held up my arms to affect a play at my ponytail, but in reality it was to display the full size of my 36C tits against my slender 24 waist frame.

The creaking continued at a still faster pace.

In the mirror my thong panties were now displaying a wet splotch between my thighs...I peeled them off. My bare pussy now glistened in the mirror, its lips full and pouting, my clitty stiff but still sheathed...I began to run my fingers along my slick gash...it felt so wonderful...I wiggled my fingers on my clitty and it brought a moan from me.

The bed was creaking very loudly at this point and I knew Daddy would never last another 2 minutes of this.

At this point, I stopped abruptly. I leaned down and opened my small, carry-on luggage case on the floor beside me. Suddenly, I pulled out a 14" black dildo I purchased on my way home from Amos' fucking of me the day before.

At this the creaking suddenly halted. I smiled to myself, "So Daddy, what are you thinking now?" I held the huge thing up and kissed it, looking directly into the mirror. Then I licked it with such an exaggerated swipe of my tongue that it served as a challenge to this older man just a room away...a challenge to my father...was he man enough to compare himself to this symbol of African manhood.

I lay back on my bed, still in full view of the mirror, spread my long slender legs, and with my right hand began to work the over-sized phallus into my hungry, wet slit.

I screwed my face up painfully to show my father how hard I would work, and how much pain I would bear, to have its size and blackness in me.

First the knob popped in. Then I began to work its length in and out with deeper and deeper strokes. Soon, I was plunging it into my belly, ten or more inches, with each stroke.

The creaking of Daddy's bed had begun again.

I then laid back and began using both hands ramming the huge, ebony surrogate, 12 inches and more, into the depths of my womb. I was grunting now, in a sexual heat nothing was going to soothe except orgasm—the orgasm I could only achieve from pretending I was servicing black manhood.

As sweat poured off me, I could hear the loud banging rhythm of my father's bed creaking and moaning from the other room like I had never heard it before. It spurred me on to ram the humongous, black dildo even harder into my depths. My pussy lips ached from the strain of stretching themselves around the girth of this black, monster dick. 

Soon I could hear Daddy grunting and moaning loudly as he achieved his massive orgasm. I continued to work away toward mine, jamming the huge rubber organ into my ravenous vaginal chamber, until suddenly it hit! I screamed loudly, "Amos!!!" Waves of heat seemed to stream through me, my temples pounded, and I broke into a heavy, profuse sweat. Daddy could now watch as his "Princess" shook in a virtual heat, slaked with sweat , climaxing--again and again—over the black, imitation dick stuffed in her grinding twat. 

As wave after heated wave of orgasm continued to sweep over me, I felt like my head would explode or my chest would burst. But it felt so, so good. My pussy continued to contract and squeeze away at the large rubbery dick that had given me so much pleasure. I thought for sure I was ruining the toy for any further use the way my spasming pussy continued to grind away at the poor thing.

When I was finally done, I lay there breathing heavily, trying to catch my breath. I lay with my legs wide-spread, the dildo remaining stuck deep in me, with only a few inches sticking out.

I thought I could probably get up and walk around that way with the intensity that my vaginal walls and pussy lips clasped the damaged toy.

I was done, but my pussy wasn't; it didn't want to stop its enjoyment.

It took a few minutes laying there before the large, black toy began oozing out of my battered channel and finally, with a dull thump, fell out on the bed.

I pulled myself up and staggered into the shower. 

I thought, "How was the show tonight, Daddy?"

That night I lay restlessly in bed. I was shocked at what I had shown to Daddy and what he may be laying in bed thinking of me.

I dozed off restlessly, dreaming of black tribesmen whipping me and tattooing my ass with the brand of their tribe. I remember being on my knees, hugging the thigh of the aging, African Chief, begging for mercy, offering him anything—anything—for his mercy!

Then I was awoken in the middle of the night with my door being open. Bare feet trod along the floor to my bed, my blankets were lifted, and Daddy climbed naked into bed with me.

He mounted me wordlessly and urgently, and then reaching down and stroking his meaty tool along my swollen gash, he thrust himself into me.

As he began stroking his thick dick into me, my body responded almost immediately...we had both waited so long...

My hips responded to his as though we were age old lovers, and we were soon in perfect sync, slapping our loins together in life's oldest dance.

"Princess, Princess..." he whispered repeatedly in my ear.

"Daddy...ohhh, Daddy..." I chanted heatedly in his.

I held him to me and kissed his neck as he sucked on mine. Over his shoulder, I could see my feet, high up in the air, bobbing with each thrust of his hips into mine.

We were perfect lovers. The engorged lips of my aching pussy, squeezed and sucked away at his fat, pulsating manhood.

This wore on for fifteen minutes, with my bed creaking and banging the way I had always dreamed it would...with the man I had always dreamed it would... Until we reached a crescendo of moans and grunts, and finally a tremendously wicked climax that wracked us both almost simultaneously.

I bit into his shoulder and he groaned with pain combined with delight. His fingers squeezed the cheeks of my ass as he pulled me into him, and our loins seemed molded together as if they were made to be together in just this way.

My long legs locked around Daddy's hips instinctively, and my arms squeezed our chests together as if I wanted him to be mine forever. Our hot , naked bodies sweat into each other and smelled of nasty, nasty sex. A smell that should never be born from a closeness between father and daughter. A smell I had always dreamed would come from the mating of his body with mine.

After minutes of holding each other like this, and straining, panting for air...we finally were able to relax our hold. He brought his lips to mine and we kissed the most sinful kiss a father and daughter possibly could--our tongues fully explored each others' mouths. When our lips finally parted, I let my tongue reach out and slide back over his lips, teasing him into clamping his mouth back down onto mine.

His dick began to get hard again and we began grinding into another round of violent love-making.

We made love five times, on and off, through the night. Around 3:00 AM, we finally fell into a deep, deep sleep, exhausted from our labors.

As morning light began streaming through the bedroom window I could feel a hand stroking my ass. Cool air swept over my naked flesh as the covers were pulled off me.

Daddy continued stroking the fullness of my ass-cheeks, as I lay facing away toward the window. 

"So beautiful...," he whispered, with a lust I had never heard in his voice before.

As his hand began stroking more roughly and occasionally even grabbing and kneading the soft flesh, he whispered again, almost as if he were in some erotic trance, "Sooo fucking beautiful!!!"

"Ohhh Princess, your ass is fucking perfect," he hissed. And he began kissing my ass. 

I rolled over face down, into the soft pillow I was hugging. I lifted my ass slightly, encouraging his worship of my backside. It felt like nothing I could ever explain. 

I felt so beautiful to have this man, my father, kissing and making sweet, sweet love to my ass. 

I lifted myself slightly onto my elbows and let my large breasts hang down into the pillow. I began to, ever so gently, wiggle my ass under my father's, almost tickling, lips and tongue.

Daddy began to gently bite my cheeks, playfully and lovingly, at first, then more roughly.

"Ohhh...Daddy," I moaned as the sensation and pleasure--the whole idea of it--continued to build in me. I reached down and began lightly massaging my clit, as I knew I would soon need relief from the building tension.

Then I began to feel it. Daddy's tongue was licking the mounds of my ample ass, first one, then the other. And then I could feel his warm, wet tongue slowly work its way into the crack of my ass.

My finger began wiggling more urgently at my clitoris now and the thought of what he was about to do made my breathing very heavy and labored. I was becoming so excited that I was having trouble getting air into my lungs.

Daddy's tongue stroked and wriggled its way deeper and deeper into the well of my ass cheeks. Soon he was licking fully up one side of my crack, then up the other. I spread my knees further, lifting and opening my ass obscenely to accommodate him lapping even deeper into my ass crack.

Then—at long last!—Daddy's tongue stabbed into the crevice of my anus! I thought, this is my father, penetrating my most intimate hole with his tongue—his organ of taste! He forced his tongue deeper into my ass hole, probing into a recess so forbidden I'd never even let my husband there before. But now I opened this secret, sinful orifice...to my father.

I pushed my ass back gently, trying to offer more of my anal channel to Daddy's exploring tongue as it began to fuck in and out of my back hole.

Daddy was now slobbering and wiping his face back and forth into my ass cheeks, as he held my hips firmly. He snorted and breathed deeply, like a man possessed. I could hear him almost chant like, muffled deep in the flesh of my ass crack, "Princess, Princess...so beautiful..."

My pussy juices were flooding down my inner thighs as my father ate away at my ass!

Finally, he pulled his face out of my ass, grabbed three pillows, piled them on the lower part of the bed and said, "Princess, drape yourself over these with your sweet ass way up high, honey!"

I was so hot! Without question I maneuvered myself as he had requested and bent myself over the pile of pillows, my ass sticking high up into the air, exposing it fully to his lust. I even subtly shimmied my knees on the bed, so as to widen my cheeks for whatever Daddy might have in mind--to satisfy our mutual craving.

Kneeling on the bed, positioned right behind me, as he was, staring intently down into the crack of my ass, rubbing his slick, fat dick up and down lewdly between my cheeks...Daddy seemed to almost be praying at the alter of my ass. It was as if he was about to perform a sacred, ceremony...initiating his own daughter into a secret, taboo rite of passage.

The fat plum that was the head of his dick began to lean in on my anus. The pressure slowly was building but Daddy hesitated for some reason. The tense silence in the room was broken with my answer to his hesitation: I whispered,"Yesssss! Daddy, yesssss...."

He plunged his beer-can thick cock deep into my tight, virgin ass. "Owwww...." I screamed at the searing pain in my bowels. But, at this point, Daddy was lost in a crazed obsession to possess my anal cherry.




Leasa Ch. 04



He began pounding his dick in and out of my ass, grabbing my hips and pulling them back as he slammed his hips forward.

Slap! Slap! Slap! His loins to my ass, opening my battered ass hole wider and wider with each brutal penetration. 

I reached between my thighs and began manipulating my clit to distract me from the pain of the anal rape, as well as to get off with Daddy.

Soon, Daddy was up on his feet on the bed, straddling my ass for better leverage as he continued humping open my once tight ass hole. In the mirror, I could see the wild animalistic look in his eye, like a mad satyr, as he continued on, wildly driving his bloated cock into my rapidly loosening rectum.

He seemed madly determined to have my anal cherry. To mark my ass as his territory forever through his taking of something I could never have back. As I listened to the rhythmic slap of his groin drilling into my ass it sounded as if Daddy was making a statement: the "Slap! Slap! Slap!" echoing throughout the room sounded to me like Daddy's pounding loins screaming, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" He was claiming my ass as his property, forever!!!

As the hammering bore on, Daddy grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head back, leveraging his burrowing dick deeper in my ass and whispered, "Princess, you like being Daddy's little, backdoor girl, eh?"

"Yes, Daddy," I responded obediently.

He then continued to jackhammer his dick into my rectum, and I could swear I heard him mumble, "Fuckin' whore..."

After some 20 minutes of battering, Daddy came a heavy load deep in the recesses of my ass. Hosing me deeply with his love...and lust. A lust he was finally sating for his eldest daughter on her childhood bed.

After we were done it took minutes for us to separate. We were like two dogs waiting for someone to throw water on us to separate our sticky, swollen sex glands.

After finally pulling out, Daddy nearly collapsed back on the bed. I pulled my aching body off the pillows, crawled over, put his soiled dick in my mouth, and cleaned it off for him. As I did this Daddy could see my spread butt in the opposite mirror. What was once a tight, winking anus, was now a gaping, two-inch wide hole, a hole that was constantly oozing his copious sperm deposit. He smiled, proud of his work. 

When I was done sucking and licking his dick, I snuggled up into his arms. We fell to sleep as though we were life-long lovers.

I had gotten what I'd wanted since I was twelve, to have my father fuck me in every hole I could offer him.

When we woke, we kissed lovingly, like lovers do upon awaking.

Daddy, got a far off look as we lay together.

"What is it, Daddy?" I asked.

"Princess, last night...the toy you had...it..uh..." Daddy was having trouble asking the obvious.

"Yes?" I inquired, playing naive.

"Have you...er...uh...ever...you know,... been with a black man? You know...like we were last night?"

I let the question drop into the silence of the room. Long moments passed and I let the suspense of my answer build.

"Yes." I finally whispered my answer.

A grimace of pain swept over my father's face as he lay there, still holding me in his arms.

"Why do you ask me, Daddy?"

After the worst of the pain seemed to pass from his face he began revealing a long-hidden story:

"When your Mom and I first married...I had to go off to the war...and when I returned I had heard a strange, terrible rumor in town. Your Mom, I was told, had been seeing an older, black man in town that owned a few bars and liquor stores..."

As my father proceeded with the story my blood froze. My Mother and an older, black man! How could it be? Was this something genetic in the women of our family! I just couldn't in a million years picture my beautiful, conservative mother in the arms of a man of African ancestry.

My father continued:

"I guess he'd been pursuing her and she had rebuffed him a number of times...but then...she finally accepted his invitation...when I asked her why, she said the man was uncommonly persistent...he'd just worn down her resistance and she thought maybe if she just went to dinner with him, it might get him to stop."

My heart pounded as I listened to a story that seemed at once unbelievable regarding my mother, and yet, so strangely familiar regarding my own recent past.

"She went to dinner with him," Daddy continued, "and dinner soon became a full night together...at his apartment...in his bed. Jesus! I guess she satisfied him every way a woman could!" 

Daddy paused as he relived the pain of my mother's betrayal.

"They saw each other many times over the next two weeks and then it suddenly ended. When I asked why she decided to finally end it...she said, she didn't. He did. She apparently begged him to continue with her, but he said he'd grown tired of her...and everything she'd been giving him those nights."

I was dumbfounded at all of what I'd just heard.

Daddy ended the story with:

"A few months after her confession to me, we had an unfortunate discovery. Your Mom was pregnant with Roscoe's child. She had to have an abortion."

Roscoe!!! Where had I heard that name before!?! Odd...wasn't that the name of the old man at the "Soul Train" Bar & Grill where Amos had fucked me our first time?

"It was a small town," Daddy finished, "everyone heard...about the baby and all...we had to move. I was the damn laughing-stock of the town."

He turned his head away and paused for a several minutes while he regained his composure.

"Princess, getting back to you, was this long ago...your..er, uh...'relationship'...with the black man...or, you know, was it, uh...recent?"

"Recent." I answered without emotion. More pain came to his face.

"Will you see him again," he asked solemnly.

"Yes." I answered simply and directly.

The pain masked Daddy's face again as he rolled away from me and sat up on the edge of the bed.

Head in hands, he began weeping. 

I just laid there, looking up at the ceiling, offering no words or sympathy. He had lost both his most treasured loves, his wife and his daughter, to the arms...and loins...of old, black men.

As he continued crying, louder and louder, he rose with his back to me and strode out of the room. 

In the corner of my eye, I could see in the bedroom mirror as he walked out, his fat, meaty dick bobbing in front of him, sticking straight out in arousal, in spite of his anguish.

It would be a while until I fully understood the sick self-hate, yet excitement, white men felt at the knowledge that the most precious loves of their lives –their wives and daughters—were penetrated by a black man's dick...and, even more, impregnated by a black man's seed

. I soon found myself driving to the airport to take my flight back to San Jose. 

I had to pull over at least twice. My father's battering of my rectum had left me nearly incontinent. I could barely control my distended ass-hole for 2 days. Nearly frightened to death at the thought of having to wear a diaper for the rest of my life, I had called my doctor for an appointment. I did cancel it, however, once I was able to get feeling and control back into my sphincter. Besides, how would I explain to my doctor how it happened, I thought. As the result or rough sex--with my father!

My life had changed so terribly in the last 2 weeks, I reflected. I had become the easy lay of a black janitor and become obsessed with his large, mesmerizing dick. Worse yet, my pregnancy would soon be showing all the world that I was to be the mother of his child.

And now, on top of all this, I had seduced and fucked my father. Allowed and even encouraged him to sodomize me, brutally. And then, I'd broken his heart.

As I drove to catch my plane, bewildered by the awful turn my life had taken, I began to think again—as my mother had done years before me--of the love of my life: an older, black man.

His name--Amos!

* * * * * 

Let me know what you're thinking, write me. (Also, please remember to rate the story, it is the only way I learn what you like!)



Leasa Ch. 05



When I arrived home from visiting my father, Andy had a million questions for me:

“So, did you and your Dad have a good time?”

“Yes. I think it was good for both of us,” I answered, slyly.

But very quickly our conversation went sour. Andy had found some pornographic magazines that—I’m ashamed to say—I bought at a porn shop, depicting older black men masturbating.

I couldn’t believe he would go through my bureau drawers snooping on me. But he did. He found these crude magazines that I had resorted to during the time that Amos stopped pursuing me at work. I’d needed something to get myself off. I’m ashamed to admit that my husband wasn’t up to the job, and that these magazines could do what he couldn’t: satisfy my need for older black males.

“This stuff is perverted,” he screamed at me, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I really don’t care to discuss it!” was all I could fire back at him, and then storm out of the room. I was embarrassed and humiliated that I had used these magazines to satisfy myself with, but I wasn’t about to give them up either.

The pictures were crude, but a tremendous turn on for me. They showed much older African American males stroking their gigantic organs and spurting thick jets of semen all over themselves and their surroundings. For a young white woman, few things could be more animalistically erotic than an aging, black bull cumming with such power and in such volume.

I would get light headed looking at the photos, playing heatedly with my clitty, dreaming the black male in the pictorial was taking me, and hosing my womb with the bucket full of jism he was unleashing in the pictorial.

I was becoming addicted to black men and their powerful sexuality.

I knew I needed to see Amos again—and soon.

That first evening home, I found myself with Andy again in our futile, pathetic attempt at a sex life.

Andy lay down on the side of the bed naked. I sat along side him, also naked. Looking down on his genitals, they appeared even smaller than I’d remembered. They seemed, over the last few weeks of my involvement with Amos, to be literally disappearing.

As I had over the past weeks, I tried to play with Andy’s little nub of a penis by first clasping it between my thumb and forefinger and gently pulling on it. I would almost start laughing as I did this, because the way the little thing would stretch reminded me of old cartoons of a bird trying to pull a worm out of its hole.

After pulling on it a little, to no avail, I would begin to flick it back and forth with my index finger. As I did this I could see his arousal building. His balls were now so little they seemed to be contracting into him. It was as if he had none any more.

Then came the grunting. I knew this meant he was cumming, but I saw no cum. Then quickly a drop flicked off the tip of the little peanut—all that was left of the strong young man I’d so recently married.

I took a single tissue from the box on the night table and dabbed up the drop of semen on Andy’s stomach. I touched the tip of his tiny nub with it also.

“All done,” I said. 

“How pathetic,” I thought.

Andy hadn’t been able to mount me since the first night after he—I guess—figured out that Amos and I were doing more than just ‘lunch’. Amos’ seduction of me had reduced my husband to an impotent, white eunuch. I tried my best to fulfill my wifely duties by twice a week flicking away at the little burr that was his penis. But I am ashamed to admit, the act disgusted me. I felt more his mommy now than his wife. As he lay there after his drip of an ejaculation, I almost felt like I should be diapering him. I couldn’t wait to leave the room as soon as we—make that, ‘he’—was done.

I noticed after getting home that Andy had now begun to wear bikini bottom underwear. He also appeared to have put on a little weight and seemed smoother and more rounded than he used to.

In time, I began to notice that some of my magazines were missing from my bureau drawer. I wondered if Andy was borrowing them.

The next day at work, I called down to Amos’ department and begged him to meet me. All I could think of over the past weeks was that I needed to tell Amos I was pregnant with his child.

I had no idea how he would react. I hoped he would want me...and the child. I no longer even thought of how neighbors, co-workers, or even family would react over my leaving my husband for a 63-year-old, black janitor. I loved this beautiful black stallion of a man. I wanted him more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life. And I wanted to bear him a beautiful black baby.

Amos seemed to be making excuses to shuck me off. He clearly wanted to avoid the meeting. I felt that he wanted to be done with me. I was already conquered territory for him; he was ready to move on.

Instead of infuriating me, it made me want him more. I felt desperate to win him as the man of my life. I pursued him by phone, and after hours in the parking lot. I even drove by his home trying to get enough nerve to knock on his door.

When he began to notice me driving by his house, he agreed to meet me for a drink at a friend’s apartment that he was allowed to borrow for the occasion.

We sat together on the couch nervously at first. I was anxious to tell Amos what was growing in me from our coupling. But I wanted to go slow. I didn’t want to shock him and have him feel I was trapping him into a life with me.

After some brief small talk, I started in with the real reason behind wanting to meet with him:

“Amos, I think you know by the way I have given of myself...when we are together...that...well,...I have very special feelings for you...”

“Yeh, babe, I knows ya’ do. So do I, ‘n’ I keep ‘em right here,” he replied, crudely grabbing at his over sized crotch.

I smiled, good naturedly at his crude display, and continued to try to reach this man:

“Yes, honey, I know...but a woman can have deeper feelings than just sex...and sex can bring about things in a woman...it can have more important consequences...do you know what I mean? Do you see what I’m getting at, sweetheart?”

Amos smiled confidently, “Sounds like you horny fo’ me again, eh?”

“No Amos...well, yes I am...but no, that’s not what I was getting at. You see, hon...I’m pregnant!” At this point, I thought it better to just get to it.

“Amos, I’m pregnant with your child. I have your—our—baby growing in me.”

I watched his face carefully to see his reaction. A huge smile slowly worked its way over his face. 

“Shit man, that’s great. You gonna name him afta’ me?”

“Well, if it’s a ‘he’, and if that’s what you want, yes.”

“Whoa!!!” he shouted. “Can’t wait to see the look on the faces of the bro’s down at work,” he spoke as if to himself.

“And yo’ hubby. Man, is that gonna be a hoot. To see him raisin’ my black little, babe!!!”

I looked at him with disbelief. I couldn’t grasp what he meant. I’d never dreamt of anything but divorcing Andy and marrying Amos. Only then, after the divorce, did I ever picture having, and raising, Amos’—and my—little black baby.

“What do you mean, Andy raising your little baby. You don’t think I’d have your baby...and not have you!”

A look came over Amos. I’d seen it before—in the back room at the bar where he’d first taken me sexually, and when he demanded I fellate him in the hallway at work. It frightened me.

“Let me tell ya’ what’s gonna happen, babe. You gonna have that baby, and yo’ white, limp-dicked husband gonna raise him. Understand?”

“But Amos, I want you too. Don’t you want me?”

“OK, time fo’ a little reality. I got me a rock-solid, honest, black wife. Got that, blondie? And I got six kids I already raised. They gave me a dozen grandchildren. No way I’m gonna throw all that away fo’ you.”

“But Amos...the way you pursued me...”

“Hey, you were da’ hottest thing in that whole fuckin’ company...maybe the hottest white woman I ever seen. But, hey, I got ya’. I’m done. And frankly, I was kinda surprised you was so easy. But you mine, now. But just because you mine, don’t go thinkin’ I’m yours.”

“But...”

“No ‘buts’ ‘bout it. You my white pussy on the side. That’s all. And you gonna have my baby with a smile on ya’ face, lovin’ every minute that you laborin’ fo’ to bring forth another branch a’ the Jackson Family Tree. Shit girl, you should be proud and honored! You gonna help build a black nation!”

I sat stunned. He couldn’t mean what he was saying.

“What’s mo,’ is you gonna wear my ankle chain now. You gonna show the world you mine.”

He took out a thick metal chain. It was rusted somewhat and silver in color. It looked very old. It looked just long enough to fit loosely around a feminine ankle. The chain had the initials “AJ” on it. “Amos Jackson!” I thought to myself.

“Amos, sweetheart, you can’t...be...serious,” I asked in the cadence of a question. That look came back over Amos’ face.

“How many times do I got ta’ deal with that attitude you got, girl?”

I was frightened.

“S-s-sweetheart...I..I..I...don’t have any attitude with you...you know that...r-r-r...right?”

I was getting ready to flinch. I was afraid he would bitch-slap me as he’d done before. But suddenly he grabbed me by my hair and hauled me toward a hallway. He pulled me screaming behind him, into a bedroom and threw me on the bed.

I lay on the bed looking up at Amos. He looked down on me and began to unbuckle his belt. He drew the thick leather belt from the loops that held it in one sweeping motion. Then, gathering the two ends of the belt into one hand, he slapped the doubled over belt against his thigh.

“Only one way to get that attitude outta a woman. We just gonna have ta’ whip it outta ya’. Is that it? This the only language you gonna understand?”

“P-p-please, sweetheart...don’t...let’s talk about—“ he suddenly grasped my dress from the back neckline and yanked down on it, ripping it off the top of me, baring my bra. Then he yanked a second time, tearing the dress fully off of me, pulling my feet up in the air as the shredded dress was pulled off my ankles.

Amos continued stripping me, tearing off my bra as I feebly tried to fend him off. In a moment he had torn my panties off and I was naked on the bed crying.

He began whipping my thighs with the thick belt.

Whap! Whap! Whap!

God, it stung. I scurried across the big bed.

“Get yo’ ass over here,” he demanded, standing at the foot of the bed. “Don’t make me come over there or this gonna really get ugly, girl!”

The look on his face made me believe his warning. Slowly, I crawled back down to the foot of the bed where Amos waited for me, like a master, with his hands on his hips.

“Assume the position, girl!” I was afraid of what he meant by this.

“Now, girl!!!” he shouted.

I turned away from him on all fours. Slowly I lifted my ass in the air.

“That’s mo’ like it,” he said, satisfied.

Whap! Whap! Whap!

My ass stung from the whipping Amos proceeded to give it.

Whap! Whap! Whap!

God, I thought it would never end.

“Now what are you to me, girl?” he asked, then applied three more strappings to my reddened butt.

“Your slave girl?” I answered with a question. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear, but I didn’t want to displease him at this point.

“Damn right!” he said, and administered another two strappings.

“And what do you do when I tell ya’ you’re gonna do somethin’?”

Whap! Whap! Whap!

“Obey?”

“Are you askin’ or answerin’?”

“Obey,” I answered affirmatively.

“Good girl,” he responded.

I waited, ass in air, head down, thinking more was coming. Then I felt his thick fingers slide along the lips of my pussy. 

“Shit girl, you wet!”

I was. My clit felt very hard. Amos played with it. I groaned. My nipples, buried under the weight of my breasts which hung down and rested on the bed spread, were aroused and stiffened. Almost sore. I was so terribly hot. I was beside myself.

I could hear Amos behind me. His clothes were falling onto the floor. I heard change rattle and roll across the floor. Then I could feel the thick, bulbous head of his wonderful, gargantuan dick rubbing up and down along my swollen nether lips. It was like a ritual between two animals about to mate. Rather than sniffing each other first, Amos would always run the big head of his dick along my lips, then suddenly thrust himself into me, as if he were ramming his violent, powerful black vitality into my quiet, comfortable white life.

He pulled my hips to him and began penetrating me with more and more powerful thrusts. He was breaking my soft white body open with his hard black weapon, forcing me to accomodate him. I was impaled again and again. 

I could hear the sticky sounds of my vaginal fluids coating, lubricating his huge dick, enabling it, encouraging it, to violate me further.

Amos came suddenly, screaming like I’d never heard him do before.

“AHHHH!!!”

Then he began muttering:

“You mine...you mine...yo’ hot, white pussy all mine...yo’ whole white life, all mine now girl.”

I knelt my head down into the bedspread and whispered back, “Yes darling, yesssss...”

As I lay prone and naked on the bed, I could feel Amos getting up and then hear a soft clinking at the foot of the bed. I felt Amos fastening the ankle chain around my ankle. I didn’t resist. I felt that there was no resisting this man.

Laying there with Amos’ chain fastened around my ankle, I never felt so sexy or so secure in all my life. It was as if I’d waited for this moment all my life. I felt I was born to be this man’s slave. To serve his hard, black muscle was the destiny of my pliant, white flesh.

I welcomed my destiny with open arms, and with spread thighs.

In the following weeks, Amos and I met several times, purely for sex.

I would wear the ankle chain he’d demanded I wear with high heels and a choker he’d given me. It was a leather dog’s collar with a silver plate on it that read, “Property of Amos Jackson. Please return to:...” followed by his address.

The collar had a metal loop attached to it where a leash could be affixed to the collar...if necessary.

Wearing my ankle chain and collar, I would often find myself sitting on Amos’ lap as he played with me. I liked to turn myself facing away from him and hold his enormous shaft between my legs.

As I looked in the mirror we were facing, the huge black dick appeared to be mine as I’d hold it between my legs. I would run both my hands up and down it till it stood straight up at its full height. At this point, it would nearly reach my breasts. 

It was terribly exciting to feel the power of holding and stroking the huge dick that I held beween my legs, as if it were mine. It stood up throbbing and oozing its precum, as if it were a viscious cobra readying itself to strike.

I could also see the big balls hanging beneath my imaginary dick. So big, so heavy. They made feel enormously potent.

If only I could be a man, I thought...a big, black man. What power they must feel, to be able to carry such large and powerful weapons between their legs each and every day.

I decided then that Freud was right—there is such a thing as penis envy. Women were jealous of men having a penis whereas they did not. But it was more, “Black Dick Envy.” Once any white woman could see, hold, and experience a black man’s size and sexual ability, she envied it, admired it, and would beg to possess it. If she couldn’t really possess his genitalia as an appendage, she would want to be some black man’s appendage—preferably in his bed.

Amos enjoyed watching me play with his big dick, working it like some big stick shift. Other times stroking it, my legs splayed wide, as if I were a black man stroking my own big dick and watching my huge balls jiggle as I did. How exciting! 

Amos would play with my blonde hair, in almost a fatherly way, as I played with him. Strangely, along with the spiked heels, ankle chain, and collar, he would want me to wear ribbons in my hair, like a little girl.

As he played with my hair, I would—oblivious to the rest of him—focus all my attention on playing with his big dick, sometimes with legs spread, sometimes wrapping my legs around it as if I were riding a big, uncircumcised broom. I’d stare down at the sticky drooling head of it, and sometimes stoop my head to kiss it. When I’d look in the mirror again, my lips and mouth area would gleam with his fluids. It reminded me of being a little girl and licking the honey my mother would sometimes bring home. Little did I know then that I’d be having that same appearance some 25 years later, as I kissed and licked the head of an old, black man’s uncut dick.

When I wore Amos’s chain home, Andy was quick to inquire about, “What the hell,” it was. I told him it was a symbol of my devotion to a certain man. I thought we needed to have a final confrontation regarding my commitment to, and pregnancy with, Amos.

But Andy was quick to smile, and kiss me, saying, “Honey, how sweet.” Only then did I realize he mistook the initials “A.J.” for his: “Andy Jons”. At that point, I let it drop.

One day at work, Amos told me that although I’d never meet any of the rest of his family, he wanted me to meet his “dad”. I couldn’t believe he could have a father, but he told me that indeed he did, and that his father was just 80. He wanted me to join him and his dad on his father’s birthday.

I thought it was the nicest gesture he had ever made in terms of treating me as though I were really a part of his life. So I consented to meet them at his dad’s house that day after work.

Amos’ dad was very old and bent. He was tootheless and wore his pants up to his chest, held there by a thick pair of old suspenders. He had thick hair growing out of his ears and was slightly hard of hearing. I thought, maybe if he trimmed some of that ear hair he’d be able to hear better. But I thought better of offering up my helpful suggestions.

When I met “Otis”, I was wearing a short, black dress with a low cut top. I wanted to impress. I also wore Amos’ chain about my ankle. I knew better than to disobey, or to act too independent. Plus, secretly, I loved thinking of myself as Amos’ possession. It was as exciting to me as it was to him.

When I was introduced to Otis, I’ll never forget the look on his face. He looked me up and down as though he couldn’t believe I was his son’s woman. He glowed and seemed almost speechless at first. Then he just said aloud, to Amos while staring at me, “Holy shit, son...I had no idea you was talkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like dis!!!”

I smiled and turned red. I was pleasantly embarrassed. And then as the ancient man looked me over, my tits began their habit—while being ogled by older, black men—of swelling, lifting, and then having their nipples protrude.

Otis noticed. The ebony mummy before me began to lick his old, thick lips and, amazingly, I began to see his pants stick out.

Otis was big, like his son.

Just as he noticed me and my protrusions, I noticed his. We were both impressed with each other’s endowments.

Otis patted the couch next to him and asked me to sit down. I did. Amos then surprised me by excusing himself, saying he needed to go to the liquor store for some whiskey. Otis and I were then left together sitting on the couch.

He turned to me, telling me he thought I was, “a beauty.” As he turned, the huge spear that was his dick stuck up, stretching his pants obscenely.

I blushed and said, thank you, but I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at his endowment and wonder at its size—and staying power.

Otis told me of his life growing up in Alabama during the days of Jim Crow. How he had to use different rest rooms and drink from different water fountains. How he would often find himself looking at some beautiful white woman, but then have to avert his eyes when she looked back, fearing for his life if his look were taken for lust—which soimetimes it was.




Leasa Ch. 05



Otis told me he idolized those beautiful southern belles he’d sometimes see from a distance, but he also hated them too, for their uppity, superior pretensions. He always wished he could just once be with one.

“And now,” he said, “with you, Leasa, here on my birthday—maybe my last—my son tells me, you gonna make my wish come true, eh?”

I was stunned. Was he kidding, I thought?

I smiled and tried to laugh it off, “Oh well sure, Otis, I’m just a special gift for you today, right?” I giggled.

But Otis wasn’t laughing.

“You laugh, girl...but that is what you here fo’ right?”

Otis appeared hurt. I immediately knew Amos had played a cruel joke on both of us. I felt badly for Otis. How could Amos do this to his 80 year old Dad?

“Otis, I’m sorry. I think Amos has played a cruel joke on both of us. I was only here to wish you happy birthday, nothing more.”

Otis appeared to droop. He looked very sad, and embarrassed.

“I musta been a fool,” he muttered, “I musta been a fool to think a goddess like you would wanta...”

“No Otis, don’t say that,” I said, feeling terrible for this poor old man.

“There’s no reason why a woman wouldn’t want to be with a man like you,” I said, trying to lift his spirits. But I didn’t realize how it might sound to a desperate old man.

“Why’s dat,” he said, challenging me.

“Well, you’re older, wiser and more mature than many younger men. You must know from what Amos has told you about he and I that many young, attractive white women are particularly attracted to much older black men.”

I could see his spirits were rising; unfortunately, I noticed the muscle in his pants was rising too.

“So, you do find this old nigga kinda appealin’ then, eh?”

I was stuck now. What could I say?

“Yes. Of course I do...you’re very, very handsome, Otis, really, you are.”

“Well, then, sweetie, why dontcha’ take a samplin’ o some a dis’, eh?” he said, glancing down at his enormous hard on.

“Well, Otis, I’m Amos’ girl. You understand, right?”

Otis leaned over and began stroking my thigh:

“Anything that’s my son’s is mine by parental rights.”

Normally, I would have laughed at such a nonsensical comment. But I could see that Otis was dead serious. And his pawing was beginning to slide higher and higher up my thigh.

I tried to grab his wrist and push it away gently, saying, “Otis, this is really inappropriate,” but it was clear that the old man hadn’t had any sexual harassment training—and he really didn’t give a shit whether his feeling my thigh was ‘inappropriate’ or not.

“Damn, Leasa, you got some fine legs!” Otis exclaimed, staring down at the flesh he was squeezing along my thighs.

As I struggled, trying to push his hands away, I ridiculously responded, “Th-thank you, Mr. Jackson. Th-that’s very nice of you to say...but it is really, really inappropriate for you to be feeling me this way!”

Slowly, this old satyr was working my thighs open. I felt helpless, I didn’t want to insult him and feel Amos’ wrath, but I didn’t want to submit to this horrible, homely old goat.

“C’mon Leasa, you know you be wantin’ me. I sees ya’ lookin’ at my baby maker, girl.”

Otis was right to some degree. As I tried to fend him off, I couldn’t help but glance down at the huge projection within his pants. There was even a widening wet spot forming right above the head of it, soaking through his pants. I began to wonder, if I just rubbed it a little would he cum and then leave me alone.

I reached down and began to rub the bulge in the old man’s pants. But my plan back fired, it encouraged him in the idea that I really wanted him. He began working harder at his objective.

Unfortunately, my thighs began to give under his constantly probing hands and fingers.

Otis suddenly smiled wide. He looked me deep in the eyes:

“Girl, you wet fo’ me.”

I was. I was ashamed then, and I am now, but Otis’ stroking hands, and the sight and feel of his enormous dick, had made me horny and wet for this toothless and wrinkled, black octegenarian.

He leaned over and put his thick lips to my neck. He sucked on it, gently at first, and then with lust. We sat like teenagers, with this ‘raisin in the sun’ planting a huge, red hickey on my soft white neck.

Otis’ hand stroked my breast, his thumb playing with my aching, swollen nipple. I moaned. I could feel my hose getting wetter. My body was responding to Otis now. My pussy lips were secreting fluid, lubricating specifically for his aged, black weapon to penetrate them.

I whispered, “Otis, is there a bedroom we could go to?”

He removed his lips from my throat with a loud smack, “Sho’...that what ‘cha want?” he asked looking me in the eye, now feeling in command of the situation.

“Yes,” I whispered back, averting my eyes from his. Ashamed of my lust.

He signaled to a hallway behind us. I arose. Otis couldn’t get up from the couch. I had to help pull him up off the couch and down the hallway. Once in the bedroom, I even had to help him indress.

I thought, how low has my life sunk than to be here in a fetid, filthy bedroom with a black man so old and enfeebled that I am literally undressing him to assist in his fucking of me?

I would have cried had I not been so in need of his sex.

After undressing him, I let him flop back against the head board of the bed. As I undressed in the twighlight of the room, I could see Otis stroking his incredibly large dick as he watched me stripping for him. The old man seemed to flog it like it was a thick, foot long fire hose. When I was nearly undressed, I could see his cock was stiffening. I was amazed that this black half-corpse of a man was more ready for sex at the age of eighty than my white husband ever was at thirty.

I was ready too. I stood before Otis feeling incredibly randy and hot. I looked down at him and stroked the lips of my cunt with my fingers, then brought them to my lips and sucked them.

“I am so hot for you, Otis,” I whispered to the wrinkled man, as I continued licking my fingers.

“Dis’ is like a fuckin’ dream, girl. Come over here befo’ I pop!!!”

I did. I came to the old man’s bed, and straddled him, offering the old Black the very nook that I had only months before sworn to the world, from an alter, would only be offered my husband.

The rotund head of Otis’ dick began stretching my lips as I knelt down onto it. It hurt as it stretched me. I enjoyed the pain it gave me. I needed just this kind of aching. 

I could feel the fat, black organ begin to penetrate me. Deeper and deeper I took the thick blackness of Otis into my body, until our pelvis’ touched. He reached out and held my hips down on to him. He smiled widely. 

“God, you mine now, ain’t ‘cha, Leasa?”

“Yes, Otis...I’m yours.”

I began to hump myself up and down, skewering myself on Otis’ manhood. I could hear him grunting as I did so. He reached up and played with my boobs—squeezing them and pulling on them. I loved it. Otis was making me feel like a woman again—much more than my young husband ever had. The old man with his African manhood was well worth breaking my western, white vows for...and I knew I would do it again for him. Otis Jackson.

Otis came in me, over and over, that night. Amos never returned. He must have known that even his aged father could have me, knowing the persistence of the men in his family, and my weakness to just such persistence from black men.

These black men—even old and balding—seemed almost genetically predisposed to be able to seduce and mate me. Leaving me in the family way. Breeding the future manhood of a strong, black nation through my open, willing, and fertile caucasian womb.

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