8 comments/ 35007 views/ 26 favorites I'll Have a Black Christmas By: robertreams "Hey, Alec," I say, close to weeping, "I'll have another please." "Here ya are, straight Chivas, for the lady, water back. Uh, ma'am . . .?" "Do me a favor, don't call me ma'am, what do I look like, your mother?" "If you don't want to be called ma'am, I guess you will have to tell me your name." "Name's Iris. And I am sorry to act like such a bitch. I shouldn't be taking it out on you. It's not you I am angry with." "Iris, eh, a very beautiful name. I grow Siberian Iris' in my garden. Double blossoms, the Siberian kind have, one above, one right below. Beautiful flower, much like yourself. It's okay, you can bitch all you want, that's part of what I get paid for." Alec leans forward on one elbow, chin on his fist, dark eyes shining, boring into mine. He has plenty of time to chat with me. The bar is empty, save we two. Who would be out at a bar on Christmas Eve if they didn't have to be? "So tell me," he says, his thick lips turned up in one corner by a seductive smile that lights up his face and ignites a spark deep in me, "what's a very beautiful Iris like you doin' out alone on Christmas Eve?" I am intrigued by the color of those lips, a sort of earthy umber very like the reddish soil of a Georgia farm. He stands well over six feet, six four at least, is broad of shoulder and short of neck, well muscled and dark, dark as eggplant. "It's a long story, Alec." "I got nutthin' but time, Iris." "And thank you for the compliment." I am always having to say that. People, especially men, have been complimenting me ever since my tits grew their first two inches. It's a blessing and a curse. I have both law and medical degrees, pull in 300 k a year, and have wowed crowds with my stand-up comedy; but it isn't my brilliant mind or my sparkling wit that draw the attention of men. I stand five three and weigh one hundred seven on a good day. My breasts are firm and shapely and just the right size to cup in two avid hands. The rest of the package is similarly attractive, as is my shining blonde hair and fair, freckled visage. I sigh deeply and begin my sad tale. "Well, Alec, it's like this: I just spent about ten grand to put together the best possible Christmas I could for my man, my husband, and me, including a two thousand dollar diamond and garnet ring for his lying-ass finger. I come home tonight early from work to surprise him, but it's me that gets the big surprise. Same old story, Alec. A girl should never cum, and I do mean cum, between her boss and her boss' husband." "No? You're kiddin'? On Christmas? With your employee?" "Worse, Alec. On the floor, right in front of the sparkling Christmas tree. The finger I was going to put that gorgeous ring on later tonight, he has stuffed up my secretary's, uh, well, you get the picture." "Ouch," Alec said, "that hurts!" "Huh, the understatement of the century." "I'm sorry, Iris. Let me buy you a drink." "You coming on to me?" "Could be. You want me to?" "Could be," I answered in kind, joking, flirting a bit to keep back the tears. We share a good laugh while Alec pours another Chivas. His talented black hands pour the shot over the rim of the glass, surface tension bonding the excess, not spilling a drop. Nonetheless, I have to lean and slurp so as not to spill. I catch the bartender at a fleeting glance down my blouse. "Like what you see?" "Very much! Can't blame me for lookin' though." "That's what they all say." We laugh together, flirting with each other. His ebony hand reaches out to softly touch mine, like coal on snow. I start to pull away, but let it go. His fingers linger a moment, then are gone. He turns away to attend to his bar tending duties. But for several minutes, the heat from his touch remains. Mysteriously, the gleaming amber liquid has vanished from the shot glass before me. In contemplating this tragedy, the tears begin again. I stuff them down with a surge of white hot anger. Just in time I prevent my arm from flinging the shot glass against the far wall. What stops me is: I really don't want to make more work for Alec. So far he has been good to me. "Alec," I shout, but not too loud. I watch him amble over with natural athletic grace. He is muscular all over, but not muscle bound. His hair is short, cut to the same length all over his head, and dark, like tightly wound coils of black wire. His dress shirt is pink, silk I think, maybe Armani, with collar stays and cufflinks, but no tie. His trousers might be cotton blend, but expensive and cut to fit, probably tailored. As my eyes scan his front, I wonder about the rumors about black men, but can discern nothing through his slacks. He touts a neatly trimmed goatee, mustache and tickler of the same black wire as his head. "The same?" I wonder how sharp the hair is in that triangle under his lip. As he speaks, I watch it move transfixed, imagining places where it might tickle me. "Iris?" "Huh? Wha. . .?" "Penny for your thoughts." "Oh no you don't, no way." He laughs out loud. Does he know, did he somehow sense, I am thinking about him? About his, tickler thing? My entire body is suffused with heat. I cannot see it, but I know I am blushing bright scarlet, my freckles a lighter shade, shine like decorative pink lights. "I asked if you wanted the same, more Chivas." "Oh, I don't know. You think I should?" "You want me to tell you what to do?" "Not a bad idea. I haven't been making very wise decisions lately," I say, half in humor. Alec turns those dark deep eyes on me. The blush continues, darkens. His eyes bore into me, hold me transfixed for a full five count. Almost with out looking, he pours another over shot. He cocks his head, a bit like a puppy anticipating a treat, takes a deep breath. "Okay," he says, finally making up his mind. "Here's what I think you should do. I'll give you two options. Number one: drink that down," he points to the shot, "I'll call you a taxi, you can go home, sleep it off, deal with asshole and his ring tomorrow." "And my second option?" I inquire. "Sit here and sip that shot for about twenty minutes, give me time to finish up here, then spend the next couple hours crying on a broad black shoulder. A perfect remedy for the asshole blues." Shit! I have been flirting. Now it is time to put up or shut up. "Well," he says, pretending to be impatient, encouraged by my silence. "Okay," I say, "option two, with amendments." The smile on his lips broadens; his eyes sparkle with mischief. His broad tongue looks startlingly pink as it flicks out to moisten those umber lips. "And they are?" "I get immediate veto power. At any time I say, you call me a cab, I'm outta there." "Done! Anything else?" "No funny stuff. The broad shoulder and that's it." "So lemme ask you. Why are you doin' this if you don't want 'funny stuff''? Wait. . . I mean, I'm not arguing, I really want to know. Seriously, why?" "Oh Alec. I don't know. You could even be dangerous for all I know. I am pretty drunk and feeling sorry for myself." A tear starts, but once again I force it down. "I just don't feel like. . . like going back to that apartment, all gaily decorated for the holidays, past the spot where he, he, fucked her, and fucked me over -- and into that bedroom to our, uh I guess now, my bed again. Oh jeez, I just couldn't. I'd feel . . . dirty." "I could call and book you a hotel room." A tiny wave of disappointment slips over me. "Is he rejecting me?" Alec senses my disappointment. "Am I wearing my heart on my sleeve tonight?" "Okay, let me finish up here, then it is broad shoulder time." "Thanks, Alec, I think." The thought of going anywhere with this complete stranger. This, this. . . black stranger, scares the shit out of me. (Okay so I am liberal and liberated, that doesn't mean there are no primitive racial memories sliding around inside me, causing that old goose bump reaction.) There it is. I am afraid. Afraid to be alone with a black man in his house. I have to admit. If he were white, I might be a bit apprehensive, I might be reluctant, but would I be frightened? But then, how frightened can I be? Am I fleeing? I think I might be enjoying being afraid. My head starts to droop from the effects of --- three, four, well, OK, several -- shots of fine Scotch. In my minds eye I see my head resting on the broad expanse of his black chest, my blonde hair spread among the tight curly springs of his chest hair. "Iris?" "Huh?" "About five more minutes, then we can go?" "No roosh, uh, er, rosh. Hoo boy." The Scotch has temporarily removed most of the sensation from my lips and tongue, speech is becoming increasingly difficult. "No rush, take your time," I am finally able to mumble out. In a few minutes, Alec returns. He offers his hand, I grasp it, pull myself to my feet, weave, almost fall. He guides me to his car, helps me in. "What kind of car is this? It's kind of old isn't it?" Alec laughs heartily. "It's a '65 Mustang convertible." "I knew it. Very old, huh?" "So you are seriously trying to tell me that you don't know the value of a '65 Mustang?" "A car is just a car to me. Something to get me from one place to another." "Well, this car, my fair lady, and I do mean fair, is what is generally called a classic. It's like the car of cars, the car all the other cars bow down to as it passes. This was my grandfather's car. He was 20 years old and had a great union job when he bought the car brand new. The next year he got into some trouble with the law. The judge said go to prison or go in the army. He chose the army, got sent to Viet Nam. He was in-country only eight days, two days after his twenty-first birthday, when he was killed in an ambush on a seek and destroy mission." He pauses in his narrative to start the engine, put the top down on this balmy Los Angeles Christms Eve, check to make sure I have my seat belt on, pull out into traffic and ease it up to third. He expertly works the 'classic' through all five gears, pushing it to seventy, and merges onto the freeway. The wind whipping through my face and hair helps to clear the fog in my head. I settle back comfortably in the cushioned seat. "He was so proud of this car," Alec continues, "my dad showed me the letter my grandpa wrote when he first got in-country. If anything happened to him, he said, he wanted his car kept as good as possible for his son. That would be my dad. He was three at the time. There was no way my grandma could have kept the car pristine, she needed to drive to work to survive. The local VFW heard about the letter and the car. They bought my grams a workable car and paid to store the Mustang properly until my dad was sixteen. Then they presented him with the car at a big ceremony. It was like -- if my dad didn't take care of the car he had the whole town to answer to. It was a good thing, made my dad a safe driver. When I turned sixteen and got my license, dad gave it to me, sort'a to keep the family tradition. In all the years since, I have not had a single ticket or accident, so you see, it made a safe driver out of me, too. also, to hear my mom tell it, there is some possibility I was conceived in the back seat of this very car. " "You are a good man, Alec, I can feel it. Are you gonna take me home and, well, er, fuck the hell out of me?" "No, I am not." "Huh, well, uh, I mean. . . why not?" "What kind of bartender would I be if I took home every drunk and fucked them?" "I give up. Bi sexual?" I quip, laughing hard. This large gentle man soon puts me in my place. "As a bartender I am trained to know when a person is too drunk to make rational decisions. I can tell by the way you said 'fuck', a lady like you, that you have drunk too much to make a rational decision." "But I want you to..." "I am very flattered, but I am not sure you would feel the same tomorrow. Let's get you sobered up, let you cry on that shoulder a bit, then see if you still feel the same way. I'd rather have you make a rational decision to come to me, than have you react, out of drunkenness or even revenge." "How about if I react out of pure lust? Don't forget, I was expecting to get laid under the Christmas tree tonight." "Laid under the tree, like a present. Interesting image. There's a present I'd like to unwrap." "Yes please. Oh, you must think I am the most terrible slut." "No, I think you are a lady who got drunk because someone did you wrong. And now you want someone to hold you and tell you that you are all right. That you are still wonderful and beautiful and everything is going to be okay. And guess what? I'm the guy." I cannot help but wonder again if what everyone says about black men having bigger penises is true. I keep trying to sneak a glimpse, but can't make out anything. When surety fails, imagination reigns. In this case, what I imagine makes my knees go weak. We arrive at his condo without further ado. He lets us in and shows me to a seat. "I'll be back in a few minutes, make yourself comfortable." I feel apprehensive and vulnerable, sitting in the middle of a snow white sofa, in the living room of a coal black man I scarcely know. Looking around at the décor: mostly things of African origin; ceremonial masks; lances like the ones I had seen in Shaka Zulu, crossed over a large hand-woven shield; totems and fertility dolls; a four-foot phallus exquisitely carved from black ebony. I wonder how a mere bartender can afford such elaborate and expensive furnishings. My mind creates a black version of Gary Grant in To Catch a Thief. I laugh at myself. I guess I am not yet completely sober. I get more and more uncomfortable as I wait. My imagination keeps conjuring up fantastic scenes of rape and murder. "Here you go, black co. . . " I jump a foot and scream at the top of my lungs, startled by Alec's quiet approach from the rear. Startled in his turn by my screams, he promptly spills both cups of black coffee on the off-white carpet. "Oh my god," I begin, moving down toward the mess I have inadvertently caused. Alec and I bend to retrieve the cups and saucers at exactly the same moment. Our heads connect sharply and I am sprawled to my butt, legs akimbo. Alec stands over me, rubbing the broad black expanse of his forehead with his palm. He bends to one knee beside me. "Are you okay?" he says, reaching out his hand to me. I place my small ivory hand in his huge dusky paw, like a wounded dove in a catcher's mitt. We look down at our joined hands, then up into one another's eyes. Without releasing my hand, he moves to both knees, pushes me back onto the carpet and covers my mouth with his. My first impulse is to fight. His large body is heavy on me, stifling. I make a feeble attempt, struggling to free my body from his grip, then pushing hard against his chest with both hands. He grasps each of my hands strongly in his, forces them back on the carpet on either side of my head and kisses me again. His wide fleshy lips cover mine completely, I shake my head from side to side, but he bears down, the inside of my lips chafe against my teeth. Alec shifts position, moves between my legs, one knee hard against my groin. A stifled cry escapes my lips. I struggle against his huge black hands pinning me to the floor, against his lips hard on mine, against his knee, planted hard into the vee of my legs. I open my mouth to scream and his broad red tongue invades my mouth, swirling and flicking against and around my tongue, my lips, my teeth. Despite, or maybe because of my struggles, my panties against his trousers get very moist. I feel a deep yearning to be filled, taken on this lovelorn Christmas Eve. He has ignited a spark. I relax my mouth, cease my struggles against him, except my panties still thrust against his knee. Suddenly Alec releases my hands, pulls his mouth from mine, and rises upright on his knees, relieving the pressure on my pussy. He looks deep in my eyes, panting. "I, I, I am so sorry, . . . I," he begins. But his spark has started a fire deep within my belly that threatens to consume us both. I place my hands behind his muscled neck, raising my body slightly off the floor, and draw his face back down to me, parting my lips to receive his tongue and unconsciously parting my legs in invitation. The kiss goes on and on; his broad lips, hot and dry against mine, his tongue insistent, its wide pink mass sweeping gently over and around my lips, then plunging into my mouth to entwine with mine. I respond with ardor, working my tongue against and with his. My hands stay behind his head, fingers entwined in the tight curly mass of his dusky hair. But his hands begin to roam over me, now roughly grasping at my dampening panties, now gently teasing my nipples through my satin blouse. Alec rises slightly to slide one hand under my blouse. Suddenly I am in a great hurry. I release his head, reaching down between our bodies to grasp his manhood through his pants, I gasp at the heft of him in my palm. I fumble with his belt and zipper, panting with need. He rises again, kneeling up between my legs to afford me access. I reach inside his underwear, grasp his firm penis in one hand and push down his undershorts with the other; I have finally manage to free his heavy cock. He spreads my legs with his knees, bunches up my skirt around my waist. Holding his massive cock in my hand, I guide him into me. Pushing back his wrinkled foreskin with my fist, I insert the very tip of his cocoa colored cock head between my wet outer lips, though I can feel my inner lips reaching to draw him in. Even only the head of him feels very large in me and I squirm around, trying to accommodate his girth. He grasps my hips, pulling me to him, forcing his full length deep in me. No man, no toy, has ever filled me so completely. The full mass of him feels heavy in me and hot, so hot. His presence casts a huge shadow over me, nearly darkening the brightly lit room. I spread myself for him, opening, offering. Wasting no time, he drills into me, hard and fast and deep. I cry from the depths of me, throw my legs around him and lock my feet behind his back. He grabs my buttocks then, fingers digging into my firm flesh, and lifts me to meet him. I throw my arms around his neck and hang dangling beneath him. His first long thrust slides from way back near my ass all along the length of me, between my lips, touches my swelling clitoris, and slips deep, so deep within me. He starts a pulsing rhythm. Harder and faster he drives into me as I swing helpless beneath him. His thrusts swing my body toward his head. Once I start swinging, he pulls his length mostly from me, then slashes forward, meeting me on the back swing. My body shudders from the impact. His energy seems boundless as he impales me over and over. At each shattering impact, the large hard head of his cock bangs against the entrance to my womb. The blessed torture goes on and on. I want relief, release, but I never want him to stop. He shows no sign of slowing, stopping, or cumming, but keeps up the assault. He begins to speak to me in his deep resonant voice. "Give it to me Iris. Give it up. Cumon baby, cum for me." He times his words to his actions, adjusting his position slightly each time I swing back against him. In addition to the repeated collisions of his cock with my cervix, his pubic bone strikes a blow to my clitoris. At that exact moment, his voice calls to me as if from far away; repeating, "cum, cum for me! Cum for me! Cum for me!" his deep hypnotic voice reverberating in my skull. I feel the the storm approaching. I try to hold off, try to fight it, long to prolong the ecstasy, but it is not to be. The first waves of orgasm strike, wipe out all trace of thought and need and desire. My orgasm sweeps over me in wave after wave of mind numbing pleasure, until I think I will lose myself entirely. I climb and climb, finally reaching a plateau. And Alec knows exactly what to do, altering his movements to maintain me there. His commanding voice changes to soft sibilant whispers of encouragement as he murmured, " Oh yes baby. Sweet, so sweet, yes baby, yes that's it darlin' sweet so sweet," directly in my ear like rustling silk. I'll Have a Black Christmas Finally, I can bear no more. "Please, please," I beg. Responding, Alec lays me back on the plush carpet, slows his movements, softly kisses my throat and shoulders, still murmuring, "wonderful darlin', marvelous, splendid, beautiful. Thank you. Thank you. Beautiful! So wonderful!" Finally, easing to a stop, he moves to slip from me, but I restrain him. "Not yet, Alec, please, please stay with me, stay in me, for a while yet." "Of course I will baby," he says, stroking my face softly, his black hand moving across my pale cheek like a crow's wing against snow. His cock is obviously large enough to stay within me, even soft, and as my pussy readjusts to its normal size, the presence of his enormous mass becomes more and more obvious. "I have to say," I tell him, " you are the biggest thing I have ever had inside me." "You mean my cock!" "Men, always wanting us to talk dirty." "It's not just talk. Even as kids, we see that little girl in the pretty white dress, we can't help but get mud or chocolate on our hands and dirty that pretty white dress." "Or that pretty white girl?" Alec laughs loudly in his deep baritone. "You are my first, but yes, I have to admit. It was there. I mean, you are soo white." "And you my friend are soo black." "Yes indeed! That I am. You like the contrast?" "So far, but I haven't seen the full picture yet." "Never fear, I have big plans for the rest of the day. By the way, Merry Christmas!" "Wow, I completely forgot, Merry Christmas!" I start laughing uproariously. "What? Tell me, what?" "I don't know. . .?" "You can trust me." "Sure, that's what they all say." "Come on, give, what's so funny?" " I was thinking how shocked he would be, how right and just it would be." "Oh, I get it. If your husband, soon to be ex-husband, that is, could see you lying here on the floor with a big black buck between your legs." "Yup, that's, well it is not quite exactly the right picture, but close. Maybe I'll tell you the rest later." "So you plan on sticking around?" "I've no place to go Alec. Could I have that cup of coffee now, please?" "Sure, no sweat," he says, pulling out of me with a wet sound and rising from the floor. I watch him walk to the kitchen, stuffing himself back inside and rehooking the catch at the top of his zipper, but leaving his belt hanging open, shirt tail all awry. I rise, almost tripping on my panties. I pull them off and stand for a moment staring at the sodden wrinkled mess, trying to figure out what to do with them. Finally, I go searching for the bathroom. Once there, I search for a laundry hamper, but, finding none, I toss my wet panties in the tub behind the shower curtain, pat down my skirt, redo my blouse, and try to pat my hair into some semblance of order. "Iris?" his resonant voiced echoes down the hall, "Where are you?" "I'm here, in the bathroom," I call back. "Be out in a sec." I rummage in the cabinet until I find a large clean towel. Alec meets me in the white living room with coffee. Before I sit on the pure white sofa, I spread the towel under me. The back of my skirt is soaked and reeks of fluids from inside me. He smiles at me in my embarrassment, saying, "How considerate you are. Thank you. Give me a moment." He disappears for just a moment and returns with two fluffy white bathrobes. "Would you like to get out of those clothes? I for one feel a bit silly, sitting here fully clothed after we. . . er, made love already. Here, let me help you." He kneels in front of me and sends those two large black hands to disrobe me. I watch them move at their task, as if from far overhead. My blouse is quickly removed and dropped on the floor. Those hands go behind me to unhook my bra which soon joins my blouse. Alec pauses to admire my large firm breasts, cupping one in each of his ebony paws. I think I might faint merely from watching those twin black invaders cover my very white skin, if not from his skilled manipulation. He stands and pulls me to him, inserts his thumbs in my waistband and pushes my skirt to the floor. I don't think he expected me to be pantiless underneath. He takes my right hand in his left and places it on the front of his trousers. I can feel his half-hard mass pulsing. Now it is my turn. I want to draw out the process and have a little fun. I take my time with his shirt buttons, stopping to run both my hands over the wide expanse of his chest, through the tight steel wool curls of his chest hair. I lightly capture his semi sweet nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, sliding my palms over them and down across his tight belly, following the arrow of his dark hair that points to paradise. With one fluid motion I undo his belt and push his tailored slacks and Calvin Klein boxers down past his feet and off. His monster of a cock sways heavily before my face. Its head is the color of black raspberries, peeking out of a foreskin that is smooth and shiny like highly polished leather. I simply cannot resist engulfing as much of him as possible. At first all I can manage is the bulbous head, filling my mouth like a huge black jawbreaker, but at second effort I slide about half of him down my throat, my hands on his tight ebony ass. I suck and lick a few times, then slip off his shoes and rise. "More about that later," I tell him. As I stand, he covers my body with a large fluffy white robe and dons its mate. We sit together on the sofa, thighs touching, for quite a while, sipping coffee and sharing personal information. I learn that Alec tends bar mostly to meet people. His father had been one of those lucky or smart few who got in and out of the dot com market at exactly the right time. No one in Alec's family will have to work for several generations, if then. I share with him that I am the financial guardian of a large museum endowment. Though we sit in silence, he never takes his eyes from me. Finally, Alec breaks the silence, "What do you want to do now, he asks? "I don't know," I promptly reply. "You didn't cu. . . er, uh, climax, did you?" "No, I felt it was still much too early for that. By the way," he says, pointing to a grandfather clock standing nearby, "Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas to you Alec. What do you want for Christmas?" I ask playfully, laughing. "You were well on your way, earlier, to giving me what I would like for Christmas, but you stopped for coffee." "Speaking of which, I would like a Christmas present from you. Will you give me what I want?" "Judging from how serious you just became, I think I better equivocate. It depends on what you want." "Revenge." "I beg your pardon?" "I want you to come to my house. I want to call Anton ahead of time and ask him to meet me. I want him to walk in. . . " choking on my words, "to walk in and, and see your big black dick in my, my something, mouth, maybe," I say, my voice dripping venom, but blushing just the same. "Whoo wee, remind me never to cross you," Alec says. "you really want to do that?" "Oh Alec. I do, I really do," I say, using my best little girl, 'please daddy' voice. Alec laughs in my face. "Ooo baby, you are somethin' else. You switch from devil woman to sweet li'l girl at the drop of a hat, don'chu girl?" "And you switch from sophisticated rich executive to field hand just as quick, donchu boy?" I laugh. "Oooh, that's it!" he says, grabbing me playfully and wrestling me onto the floor. I am no match for his immense frame. He overpowers me easily and immobilizes both my hands with one of his, laughing, holding them joined behind my back. He pauses. The playful laughter dies; I hear a change in his breathing, something of import is about to occur. I suddenly sense what is coming and struggle harder against his huge black presence. He stretches me across his lap. Undoing the soft belt from my robe, he uses it to bind my hands firmly together, tosses the robe up off my butt. "This is also a Christmas present." he says. For some reason I cannot wrap my mind around, I stop fighting. With some chagrin, I discover that I am holding my breath. Waiting. Waiting for what we both know is coming. Crack! His huge black hand strikes my right ass cheek a stinging blow. All the breath is expelled form my lungs in one long whoosh. Crack! My left ass cheek burns with the impact. "Alec, please." "Count," he says, smacking me harder. "What? What do you mean?" I ask him, tears starting. "Count," he says again, smacking me again. Of course I do not have sense enough to say four. "One, one!" I scream. "Very good," he laughs. Smack! He is moving his slaps around from up near my waist down to the top of my legs and from one side to the other, spreading the fire around. I barely have time to jump before the next blow descends. "Two," I quickly yell, holding my breath for the next blow, but it doesn't come. The agony of waiting is more severe than his stinging slaps. He pushes his lap up against me and I am acutely aware that his huge cock is poking up against my crotch, pulsing like a living presence. He is purposely pausing to insure I am aware of his cock, of his need, I tell myself. He goes on for six more blows, evenly administered, evenly distributed. Each one stings like fire on my bare bottom, but I no longer cry out. "Three, four, five," I count. At every slap I draw my ass sharply down away from his punishing hands, down against his hardness. By the count of seven, my pussy, my lap, his cock, his lap are wet with the fluid running from me. I am pissed off and shamed that I am turned on by his power over me. By the eighth swat I am begging, "please Alec, please," but neither of us is sure if I am pleading for him to stop or begging for more. Every nerve in my body is alive, aware. The fire radiates from my ass like electricity, spreading to my fingertips and toes, to every inch of my skin. I am close to losing myself entirely. I fear the slightest push may send me headlong into the black unknown. "Six," I count and the pain seems no longer to matter. A sort of mad combination of pain and joy and lust has overcome my senses. Yes, I want him to stop spanking me. But now I want him to stop so I can discover what he will do, what he will demand further from me. What he wills. His huge black hands flutter softly over the inflamed areas of my buttocks, so gentle. The switch to softness is unnerving; my mind, my body know only his dominion. I will, I must, accept whatever comes next. I am keenly awake and alert. My senses are heightened. I can hear his ragged breathing, my own panting, the ticking of the grandfather clock, the rustling of his toes on the carpet. I can smell his cock, ripe and harshly male; the coffee cups on the table; the heady manly aroma of his sweat; the polish on his shoes that lie discarded nearby; the musty acrid aroma of the juices that run from me. I can taste, yet, the flavor of his manhood so briefly in my mouth; the saltiness of my tears; the remains of my lipstick; the seven-year-old Scotch that started all this. He loosens my hands. "Get up," he says, helping me find my feet. I stand before him, more naked than I have ever been. "Merry Christmas," he says, seriously. "Thank you," is all I can say. "You're welcome," he replies, smiling. "Can I get you anything? Water, coffee, anything?" "No, thank you." I cannot draw my eyes away from his gleaming ebony rod sticking up proudly from his lap, as if waiting for me. He rises and it sways heavily back and forth. He puts out his midnight black hand, palm up. Obediently, I place my hand in his, like a tiny white rose on black velvet. "Come," he says simply, leading me to his bed. As he lays me on the bed, the fire returns to my ass cheeks, though much reduced. Once again he kneels between my legs. Those fat, luscious, umber lips are on me, working their magic. I reach down with my index and middle fingers, sliding one on each side of my swollen clit, drawing back the foreskin that covers it, while his tongue flicks and flashes. My clit is at least twice as swollen as it has ever been. I feel as if I might go crazy if I don't find relief soon. But Alec's gifted tongue and more gifted fingers keep up their magic, driving me up, up, up 'til I am almost over the edge, about to scream, then backing off, slowing in speed and intensity, then building again. Alec begins to use his little 'soul patch' on me. The little sharp points of his 'tickler' brush roughly against my clit, scrubbing it, then the tongue, then the brush again, over and over. Alec shifts slightly, changing his position. With a sudden jolt, he slips two fingers into me, curling them back toward his palm. His mouth leaves my pussy, sliding instead to suck on my right nipple, his hand pulled up hard. He rotates the heel of his hand on my clit, with pressure so hard I am certain he is about to hurt me, but the two fingers curled inside me work up and down and back and forth on a swollen spot behind my clit. Waves of pleasure sweep over me. "Yes!" I tell him, "Oh my God, yes!" But then, from a place deep within me a totally new urgency begins. "Stop," I say "oh please, Alec, stop." He does not withdraw his fingers, nor loosen his grip on me, but lifts his mouth from my breast, lifts his body partly, supporting his heavy frame on one elbow, to inquire, "What? Did I hurt you?" "No. . . but. . . I, er your hand what you are doing to me. . . down there. I, I feel like I am about to pee. Please stop. Please Alec, I don't want to pee in your bed." His hand pulls up tight against me once more, the fat base of his thumb grinding against my clit, two fingers massaging inside. His lips move to my ear, whispering, "do you want to start counting again?" "No, no Alec please!" "Then you must trust me. I know what you are feeling, trust me Iris, trust me," he flicks his fingers even more strongly, "If I make you cum so hard you piss yourself I will be proud and happy to drink fully of all your sweet fluid, now cum for me baby, let go, just let go." Alec's soft sweet breath in my ear sweeps goose bumps over my body. The threat of further discipline, the commanding tone of his deep hypnotic baritone compels me to surrender. "Let go, baby, let go, cumon baby, let go." Each time he whispers, '"let go" he pulls up hard, the heel of his hand punishing my clit, his fingers working the magic spot. His fingers are sloshing in me. And then it happens, hot and warm the fluid shoots from me. Mind and consciousness disappear as a huge tsunami of an orgasm strikes me. This is no plateau, but a long hot slide to oblivion. The fluid gushes and gushes from me. Abruptly, he pulls his fingers from me; the sense of loss is crushing, but he moves quickly to fill me with his huge black shiny cock, striking from down low near my butt in long, long strokes so its massive head strikes exactly the same spot his fingers have just left. Spurt after spurt of hot liquid shoots from me and splashes between us. He drives hard against me with wet slapping sounds. I cry out to my maker as he plunges deep in me over and over. . . Everything in me pushes outward. I am washed away by the current of my own flood, filled with the hot pure fire of sweet surrender, lost. From somewhere in the vast blinding universe, I feel him tense. He grasps my butt cheeks with both hands and pulls me tight against him. The fire in my ass is renewed by his harsh grip, but serves only to heighten my sense of total surrender. His heavy cock pulses and jerks inside me. My pussy contracts down its full length, grabbing him. "Take my cum Iris," he commands, as if I had a choice. I splash again, and again. Behind my eyes, inside my brain, a myriad of colored fireworks explodes continuously. Tears stream down my face from a cascade of unknown emotion. My body, my insides, my belly, my skin seem to flow outward. I feel as though I am sinking. "Iris. . . . Iris. . . Iris. . . Iris!" His marvelous voice breaks through to me. Consciousness returns slowly. His dark heavy body atop me feels as if I am buried alive. His massive manhood still fills me, but differently. I embrace another sensation I have never felt before. He is large enough to stay fully in me, even soft. I wonder why I am crying. "What happened? Did I pass out? How long have I been. . .?" "Easy, baby. Relax." He rolls partly to one side and I follow, throwing my arms around him as if I were about to lose him forever. "Oh Alec, Alec. I. . . I. Oh my god that was so, so. . . " I cannot find the words -- awesome, amazing, wonderful -- all fall short. But, yes, full of awe, full of wonder. "You know me better than I know myself. How is that possible?" "I only know how to open you up and let out what has been smoldering inside, since. . . well, since forever." "Oh my God," I say, running my hand over the soaking bed beneath and beside us, "is that all from me?" "Not all, but almost all." I bring my hand to my face, sniffing. "It doesn't smell much like pee." "It isn't piss, Iris." "Well, what is it?" "No one knows. Scientists are beginning to think it comes from something they call 'the female prostate'. " "Is that what you touched. . . er, inside me?" "Yes, Iris, I helped you cum. That wetness all around us is your female ejaculate. Isn't it a wonder and a miracle?" "It certainly is, you sweet, sweet man. And I am not going to ask you where you learned how to do that. Er, uh. . . Alec. The, uh, spanking. What was that about?" "You tell me." "What do you mean?" "Don't get cute with me, Iris!" he says, running his and over my butt, reminding me. "Tell me how it felt, what it made you feel." "Can't we just let it go, for now and just enjoy. . . " "We could have, not now," his words are terse, his voice tight. "Well, it hurt like hell. How's that?" "And. . .?" I blush from the tips of my toes to the roots of my blonde hair. "Say it!" Alec commands. "It made me very hot and wet." "That's better. Do you know why? Why it turned you on so to be spanked?" "No, no I don't." "I think you do!" "No, no really Alec, I don't." "Think about it." "Can't you just tell me." "I could, but those would be my words. You need to say your words. I can tell you why I spanked you, what it made me feel. And I will. But first, you." "I suppose you are going to say that I was willful and demanding and controlling and you had to, what, 'discipline' me." "I suppose that is close enough. I felt the situation was getting out of hand. It seemed to me that if we kept on the course we were charting, you were charting, we would have had a relatively quick one night stand and parted, happy to have had someone to fuck, but still alone, still lonely. And still accepting 'good enough'. What was needed was to break that same old chain. You had to learn to surrender. And you had to learn to trust me to take you there. The spanking, which I knew would turn you on. . ." "Wait a minute! How did you know? You couldn't have known. . . " "People like me, we know. Don't ask me how, we just know when we have met. . . er, someone like you, someone who needs to learn to, well for now let's just say, needs to learn to let go. Or you could say I knew you needed someone like me." "Why?" "Because the kind of total joy, total orgasm, we have just shared can only be felt by those who have learned to let go, learned the joy of total surrender. Tonight, this morning, you, we, have taken the first step in opening you to a whole new world of pleasure. This is your Christmas present from me. Not a new life, necessarily, but surely a new sex life." "And who taught you to 'let go'?" "Ah maybe some other time I will tell you all about that." "And what will I give you for Christmas?" "Don't worry, I have plans." I'll Have a Black Christmas "So you are saying. . . " "That we are going to be together, stay together, for a while. How long? I can't promise that. Really, no one can. But I am willing, wanting, to stay with you, be with you, for a time. . ." "And what about me? Don't I have any say in this?' "No! You don't! You belong to me now. Let's get showered and dressed. First get on the phone to 'what's his name'; make an appointment. We still have to have Christmas at your place under the tree. Then I'll take you out to a great meal, and we'll come back here and go to sleep." I start toward the shower, stop. I turn to him, a wry smile on my face, "Alec?" "Yes, baby?" "When we go to my place?" "Yes?" "I'll have to be in charge you know, kind of control and direct things. Afterward, won't you have to do something about that?" "We'll see, it depends," he swats me playfully on the ass. "Now go get ready!"