The way he would do me from behind. Our skin slapping together. That bitter-sweet sensation of him going real deep. That feels good, with a subtle hit of pain. Our skin sounded like church tambourines. He would hold my hips, pull me backwards, pull me onto him as he thrusted hard, deep, long. I’d grip the bedsheet, clutch them. I could feel him tilt and dip his hips as he thrusted, pounded me. Moans would come from my mouth but not sound like me. I’m all kinds of shaking, toes scrunched up. Then he’d say “Say it!! Call out his name!!”
I’ve got to admit the first time he commanded me to do it I was like wtf! But now, it’s just…
Let me explain. He’s ‘thing’ was to have me call out the Lord’s name when we were fucking.
Yeah!! I know right, crazy huh!?! But when you think about it most people do it naturally without thinking about it. But… when you do it consciously, when you’re told to do it, it’s a whole new ball game.
So, as I was saying. I’d be on my knees, on the edge of the bed, face buried in bedsheets and he’d be going in… and going it.
‘Say it!! Call out his name!’
Sometimes I’d hold back, grit my teeth, clench my nukki and be obstinate. Of course this is to piss him off, get him vex. It always worked. He’d go harder, spread my ass cheeks so he could go deeper, hit my roof.
‘Fuck! Oh my God! Yes. Yes! Shit!
He’d thrust in at an angle
‘Jesus! Oh God, oh God, oh God… yes! Oh God! Fuck! Oh fuck!
If you’d like to have me finish the story let me know.
You know what? I don’t even know where to start with this story. Part of me just wants to jump into the end and tell you about the good parts but I need to give you background. I need to tell you about Mr Ezra Morris. Ezra’s story is so good I have to break it down into two parts.
I meet Ezra at a friend’s bbq – it sounds bad but I can’t remember which friend; I just remember him coming into my life and the subsequent and wondrous sex that followed.
The bbq was your typical ‘starts at 3pm’ but nobody turns up until after 6-7pm with the majority of people rocking up after 10pm. I admit it, I formed part of the later group. It was one of those rare extra UK hot summer days – and believe me they are rare. It was the kind where everyone seems to either go crazy and walk round half naked or just decides to roam around on road just so they can soak up as much sun as possible – most people end up doing both. For me, I had the obligatory Saturday morning house chores to do. You know the ones; the kind you don’t have time to do in the week or just can’t be arsed to do when you get home from work.
Anyway, I spent the day doing my thing, hook up with Isis and head over to the bbq. As it was hot we both decided to wear our maxi summer dresses – and yes, of course we didn’t wear any underwear; it’s become standard procedure when wearing such clothing. We got the bbq and made are way to the garden.
That’s her name! Patricia, Patricia Olufemi – she’d kill me for forgetting her name lol.
Patricia introduced us to a couple of people which I really didn’t and couldn’t remember. That was until she introduced us to Ezra. Trust me, my man was all the bbq I needed – he was a feast and a half
He was wearing a vest top and linen trousers. The top just framed his arms beautifully – the were solid, bold and defined. He had that new bread trend going on which lots of guys are rocking but it seemed like it was something he’d been rocking for years. His lips, his lips … he had the lips that make you simply imagine, the kind that when he’s talking you’re just watching his mouth and imagining. His lips made you want to say ‘you’ve got nice lips’ but want you really want to say ‘can you please put them on my nukki, please, really please!!’. He’s vest was fitted but not tight and you could see the subtle and suggestive imprint of his abs. Now, I need to catch a moment as I describe the trousers…
Ladies, you know we all do it when we see a guy approaching us – you sneak a sly look to see if he’s got that dick print/outline in his trousers. Well, with Ezra there was no need to sneak a quick look, the sumting was embossed! I don’t know if there is a male version for camel toe print out but he had it.
Wait … I need to catch my breath again.
Ok. I’m good now!
It wasn’t just long it was Thick with a capital ‘T’! it hung proudly to the right and was bold in its presence. My nukki didn’t get wet, it was dribbling. It was such a good thing I had on that maxi dress ‘cause I could feel her trickling down my inner thigh.
He had this thunderous deep voice that was husky too. When he spoke its was like when you’re in rave next to the bass speaker and it vibrates your entire body. My nib was reverberating from his every word. Hopefully you get the picture of what this man was doing to my nukki without him even realising it. I kindda forgot that Isis was standing next to me as Patricia introduced us and did the ‘joining the dots of things in common’. When I did remember her I looked at her and realised it wasn’t just me suffering from this man’s effects. Isis and I had been friends for over 5 years and I could always tell when she was looking, horny or just got some. The look on her face was all three. She was certainly looking piece of Ezra, she was horny as I was and I could see from her eyes she was & had fucked him several times in her mind. Lmao … the two of us must have look like some dick hungry, nukki in need, ready to strike, famine stricken, ravenous beasts.
Ezra was either use to women reacting to him in the way we did or simply playing cool as he didn’t seem fazed by us at all. I don’t remember it at the time but later during our rapport Ezra said that I was licking and biting my bottom lip. He said that was what made him take an ‘interest’ me in. AS the evening progressed, got later and more drink was consumed Ezra and I somehow ended up talking in the hall way while everyone seemed to be outside or in the kitchen. We were both propped up sideways against the wall and looking directly at each other. I have to say that I could have raped him there and then – in fact in my mind I already was! We were so close, practically touching. It’s like I could feel the heat radiating from his body or maybe it was the heat emitting from my nukki, either way there was physical actually heat being generated.
I don’t know if it was alcohol, the horniness or both but Ezra asked if we could find somewhere quite to ‘talk’. He didn’t have to ask me twice and before I knew it we were walking upstairs and into the bathroom. Please, don’t ask me why or how we chose the bathroom. I guess part of the reason was I wasn’t going to disrespect Patricia’s house and get my freak on in her bed. Ezra and I weren’t even fully through the door before we were all over each other. He’s hands grabbed my behind, squeezed and pulled me onto his hardness. Between his linen trousers and my maxi dress there wasn’t a lot of material between us and I could feel everything. It was like autopilot the way my fingers found him and cupped it in my hand. It wasn’t just hard it was strong. You hear the ‘it was hard like steel’ but never believe it. Well, Ezra embodied that saying; it was like it was made from the same metal that Wolverine has … what’s it called? Adamantium – it felt indestructible. I could feel my nukki just saying ‘take it, take it, take it … let me take it!!’ I was trying, fighting to maintain and not get carried away. I was tipsy already so my head was spinning but the feeling of his hardness was making me feel even more drunk. The way he kisses was like alcohol, like brandy and coke … smooth, warm, mature and powerful.
Even in my intoxicated and horny state I sensed that this encounter wasn’t the first of many. However, what Ezra did next confirmed my suspicions. Without warning he spun me around so I was facing the mirror over the skink, flung my dress up so it curtained over my ass, dropped to his knees and slipped his tongue inside me.
It was crazy. It was like the level of intoxication doubled yet sobered me up at the same time. Ezra’s hands cupped my cheeks and spread them as he begun to suck and French kiss my nukki from behind. I wanted to release, let me moans out but couldn’t; people would hear me – even over the loud music and chatter. Ezra was a tongue Jedi, and he was certainly using the force. It was concentrated intensity and I could feel myself rise up onto my tiptoes. Nukki was spilling like an overflowing bath – water everywhere. I could hear Ezra moan and he tongue fucked my nuki with such blissful finesse I started to buck. I was bucking and shaking so much I ended up head-butting the mirror. I ended up gently tapping my forehead against the mirror to try and take the edge off the intensity of the tingles. I could feel the cold of the sink pressing against the front of my thighs, the warmth of Ezra’s tongue, the dull thud of my forehead against the mirror. I wanted to cum but didn’t want to cum as I knew it would be intense. I was gritting my teeth trying to hold it back – I wasn’t about to let out an give away sounds that would get us both into trouble. However … Ezra had other plans and it was like he could sense I was holding back. To this day I don’t know what he done – and he refuses to tell me – but he done something with his tongue and that was it; I came apart.
I was so sudden, so overwhelming, so powerful there wasn’t even any build warnings. I just exploded. I popped like a water balloon when it hits something – splash! My legs began to buckle and shake. I don’t know how he did it but Ezra was holding me up and still sucking on me as I orgasmed. It was messy. Juices just all over the shop, down my legs, on the floor, all over his mouth – it felt …emotional. The way I was gritting my teeth and fighting back urge to moan was almost infuriating. I was holding onto the sink so tight it felt like was going to rip it off the wall. I wanted to reach back and push Ezra off me but 1. It felt so good I didn’t want him to stop. 2. If I let go of the sink I might have fallen over. My head was pressed against the mirror, eyes clinched tight. Come to think of it I think I stopped breathing for about a min it was so intense.
Ezra eventually gave mercy on me and stopped. If you ever head the gasp of relief I expelled was serious. He got up and stood behind me and looked at me in the mirror. My juices were all over his mouth and he slowly licked his lips; the sight of that alone made me judder. He smiled and with a straight face and absoloutely no irony said
‘so … can I have your number?’
I laughed and had a mini orgasm right there.
When we eventually got back down stairs Isis looked at me and she knew. She just smiled, shook her head and said ‘bitch!’ so … how was it? The rest of the evening I didn’t drink a drop; I didn’t need to as my head (and body) was still spinning. It was around 2am when we left the bbq and Ezra gently put his hand on my waist as I left and said
‘I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to. I’ll call you so we can make the necessary arrangements.’
Believe me I was read to make arrangements right there and then but simply smiled, felt my nuki smile to and left. We dealt with said ‘business’ several times, over several months and in several ways but that’s another story
Adebimpe Akingboye had been going to the gym since the start of the New Year. Like thousands of others she made a resolution to get in shape, be healthy and accomplish the summer body dream.
She planned to go Jamaica with the girls for the summer and wanted to be able to feel good about her figure and feel sexy. To ensure her goal was achieved she booked session with a personal trainer Darcus, Darcus Isaiah Clement Kennedy (dick, mr d.i.c.k). She had wondered if he lived up to his name during a couple of their sessions but never let it interfere with their profession relationship of client and trainer. That was until Darcus came to the gym, not in his usual tracksuit bottoms and hoodie, but shorts and vest.
Adebimpe saw him at reception and instantly it felt like a thunder storm and erupted between her thighs. Dark, deep, menacing clouds of lust formed. Winds of imagination started to howl and whistle through her mind. The air of her focus became moist and humid. Rain of fantasies where imminent but she was holding them back. She held them back until Darcus stepped from behind the desk and she saw his shorts and the thick, long outline of him embossed in the material of his shorts. Read more…
Legs open wide. An invitation. My hardness accepted your wet welcome. Our eyes locked, pulling us closer together. Magnet and steel. The whispers of your eyes spoke to me. Spoke of pleasure. Spoke of want. Lowered myself between the valley of your thighs. Your hands around my neck, legs coiled around my waist. Loud silence when you told me
‘Slow baby, just the tip’
I smile, follow your instruction. Rest my head at your entrance, it crowns me. I am king of your queen-dom. Your wetness is my throne. I rest on it. Sit still and look into your eyes. You smile, bit your lip, mischief in your eyes. I sense your playfulness. Become curious. Curiosity blends with my desire, mixes with my longing to enter you. Your request echoes in my mind ‘slow baby, just the tip”
Your hands soft on my face. Strokes the curiosity away, makes it fade. Your gaze fixed on my face.
Then …you squeeze, flex you woman muscle. Tingles explode in my head … And in my head, tear through me. Cause me to roar. Curse out loud. Surprise shakes me. Evoke the moment before release, the intense build up. I grit my teeth. Try to pull away. Retreat from the onslaught on compounded sensations. You grip me with your legs, hold me prisoner and keep me captured in the bitter-sweet torment. I look at you. Playfulness in your eyes, mischief dances in them. You flex again. Unable to be freed I try to push inside you and charge past your fortress of wetness. You put your hand on my stomach. Hold me at bay. Refuse me entry, decline me pleading request to be set free from this cerebral anguish. I am a hostage, held captive in the beautiful prison of tightness. I growl. Explicit words spill out my mouth. I clench fist. Angry lust rumbles in me. Joyful vexation erupts. I punch the bed. Shudder with raging pleasure. You squeeze again. Hold. Grip hard. Maintain your hold. You’re knowingly pushing me to the edge. I curse you. Laugh with vexation in my voice as tingles stampede through me. You giggle with naughtiness in your sound. We laugh together. You hold me with your legs and pull me inside you …
I ask you if you’re are happy. Ask you but afraid of the answer. Ask you but scared your reply will be the nail in the coffin of hope. Asked knowing that your reply could mean that there will be no resurrection of the salvation of your love.
You answer my question. ‘I am content’
I ask you again; ‘Are you happy?’ You pause. Let moments pass. Look into me. Again you reply
You turn and walk away. Leave me standing still; alone in a crowed place. The noise of music, conversation, the bubbling of laughter fades into silence as you’re words echo in my head.
‘I am content’.
Thoughts take me back to our past conversations. Back to 2am dialogue we had as we lay naked in bed discussing love and life. Back to a time when the world was asleep and still but our minds sparked bright lights in our eyes. Back to how our finger tips touched, engaged in their own dialogue of silent words. We become naked as we take off the layers of old relationships, the clothing of hurt, the garments of regret, the attire of painful lessons and silent tears.
Then I am ripped away from this bliss. Slapped with the moment you found out the truth. I did not hear you’re words; I see their colours; scarlet red, deep blue, pitch black. They bubble up in your lungs, clamber up your wind pipe, fill your mouth and cause it to swell as they burst from your mouth. They swirl around in the air like storm clouds; fills it with colourful sound, splash against the walls, splatter on them and leave stains. They are a thunderstorms. Your words are lightning lashes that strike, surge, crackle and cause electrical volts of hurt. Despair, anguish, I hear fury. I see the colour of your emotions in your eyes…
She took me in her mouth. Held me with her hands. Wrapped her lips around my hardness, pulled on it with her mouth. She used her tongue, coiled it around my tip. I wished she was you. Preyed her to become you…
I hated her, hated myself. Was angry, vexed. Bitterness swirling in my head, pain in my heart. I fucked her with hatred, fucked her with angry regret. She made sounds, moan with pleasure. Told me harder her. I hated her sounds. Loathed her voice. Fucked her harder hoping she would stop, wanted to hurt her. Take out my frustration on her. Fucked as if she was the cause of my pain. Pushed deep into her. Snared, growled. Called her a names …
I released white tears, a million tears from the eye of my masculinity. Weeping sorrow, sobbed. I knew what had taken place could never be undone. Knew one day you would know of this transgression. I didn’t pray for God to forgive me, I prayed he’d allow you to …
I introduced you to my great grandma, introduced to my roots, my linage, my oldest living bloodline. She hugged you. Held you tight. Held you like you were a long lost relative who had finally returned. She took you into her domain, the place she believed to be a woman’s sanctuary, a place in which a woman provided nourishment for her family. I watched as she became your teacher, your culinary interrogator, quizzed you. Watched you as you kneeded flour making dumplings. Mummy Edna assessed your abilities to provide nourishment for her unborn great-great grandchildren – she wasn’t concerned if she would be here to see them. She wanted to know her bloodline would be left to a virtuous woman. I tried to save, Intervene. Was repelled by with threats of dutch pot to forehead reprimand. Told this was woman business, female talk. Smiled. Looked into you. Felt you kiss me with your eyes. You chuckled at my reprimand. Swift wooden spoon to your knuckles stifled your mockery. Mummy edna telling ‘dis ah nuh joke ting, mind fi yuh biznezz. Cah yuh mussi feel mi mek any an’ any people inna mi kitchen much less nyam from dem.’ Mummy Edna had embraced you. She was letting you cook in her kitchen. A kitchen she had provided food for 9 children, for 11 grand children, for 5 great grandchildren. A place she held as sacred.
We sat down as conversation and the clatter of cutlery filling the air.
Mummy Edna pouted her lips, tipped her chin up in your direction.
‘She can gwan still. Di likkle food taste ahright still.’
You had passed your culinary test, you had her approval. The woman who had raised my mother, the woman who had survived slavery, seen wars, seen her country become independent. She believed you could carry her baton, would be able to allow her spirit to rest peaceful know her family would be in good hands.