Light Chocolate Candy

Shaun is a tall sexy black woman, she is 45 years old, divorced, no children and a anchor/reporter for an entertainment show.
” So what’s this I hear about you seeking a relationship with a black woman? An attractive successful woman.” ” Maybe?” I look up from my scotch, suspiciously. ” What else did you hear?” ” Just rumors. That your nickname is the bull because your cock is long, thick, is unusual with a knot at the end. That no woman can have more then two intercourse sessions with you.” I look at her closely. I stared intently her, lips pursed, mouth set. I heave a long sigh. ” Wanna try?” I ask softly, laying a hand on her arm. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She looks like a goddess – a chocolate goddess. A flush suffused her cheeks, before she drops her eyes once more – ostensibly to complete the transaction. ‘Thank you,’ she cooed.

I sat there trying to find the best description of her complexion. I think I settled on is ‘a Grand Marnier mocha melange.’ I met her at the door an hour later. She smiled shyly – shyly but alluringly. She seems more pleased than surprised. We approached one another tentatively, almost warily. I invited her into my place. Shaun, is perfect – perfection manifest. Full lips; glittering deep brown eyes, impeccably set around a pert nose, with just a tiny hint of the Dark Continent still evident – if you know what I mean; flawless mocha skin – creamy coffee-colored with just a hint of orange spice undertones. Her black hair hung over her shoulder long and flowing. Her breasts swell proudly – not large, but perfectly shaped – her nipples just a slight insinuation under her dress. Her hands are fluid, her fingers long and slender, her legs obviously shaped and toned beneath her dress. At 45 years old…she is, to my mind, the ideal specimen. She is exactly what had been intended when mankind had first emerged in central Africa.

We talked about everything. Everything except what is front and center in each of our minds – that is, sex. It started as she is showing me round the apartment. She had invited me over for coffee and to see her apartment. She tries to kiss me. She was probably making a foolish decision, so that is why she is the one to break off the kiss so suddenly. We had rounded a corner near the stairs and she has found herself standing close, feeling aroused. She merely followed her instincts leaning forward kiss him. She is single, she is a little lonely and she barely knew me, she thought she had correctly interpreted my signals as our flirting had increased in obviousness over the course of two bottles of wine. Yet the fact we had drunk so much is what made her pull back in the end. She is a sensible type, ordinarily, not a risk taker and not prone to impulsive actions. Her judgement is impaired, she told herself. She is drunk. Maybe what she had taken as flirtation had been nothing more than innocent conversation. She became afraid, suddenly, of making a fool of herself and pulling back from the kiss.

” I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispers, realizing then she already had made a fool of herself. I said nothing and so she sought escape, quickly turning, trying to move away, back up the stairs. That is when I grabbed her. Hard, fast, she is unable to comprehend at first, for it all moved too fast. I grabbed her around the arm shoving her hard up against the wall and it hurt where my fingers had gripped and dug into her, it hurt as her head had connected with the plasterboard behind her, as I pushed her roughly and held her there with the weight of my body. But it did not matter if it hurt, for my lips were on her own once again, but this time the kiss is hard and forceful. My tongue is in her mouth and my body is pressed against her as my hands are at her breasts, and her waist, gripping the skin beneath her shirt. She is helpless to fight against me, not simply because I’m physically stronger than her, but because she seems to lose all will to fight in the face of my determined lust.

She tries to struggle after a moment, briefly, ineffectually, as her wits have returned and that sensible part of her brain told her this is wrong and I shouldn’t be allowed to do this. So she tries to pull her face away from me, tries to push me from her, but my teeth only clench and anger flares in my eyes as I grip her shoulders with brutal force as I push her against the wall, this time with far more force. She literally sees stars as her head hits hard against the wall behind her, her stunned groan entirely unwitting, but I give her no time to recover, reaching up with one hand to entwine it in her long hair at the back of her head and pulling down hard. She whimpers with the sudden pain, but can not get out any further sound, for my lips are on her own once again and my tongue is back in her mouth as she stops trying to struggle for fear of what I will do and instead kisses me back.

She is gasping for breath by the time I pull my face away from her and she takes advantage of the pause drawing back, sucking air deeply into her lungs, her eyes locked on my face with fear. She sees a cruel amusement in my expression, worse, condescending disdain, as if I have always known she would respond to such harsh treatment, as if I had expected nothing less. My free hand, the one not holding her by the hair at the back of her head, clutches roughly at her breast so that she cannot help but utter a low sound of surprised pain. Something else flares in my eyes, she thought it is satisfaction, pleased to hear her cries. As she stares up at me in that moment of respite, I push my body against hers and she is pinned to the wall, my hand on her breast, the other painfully pulling her head back by her hair, she knew then she truly fears me. Fears me and desires me also, desperately, overwhelmingly.

I grab her wrist as I step away from her, not saying a word, just pulling her suddenly, sharply forward, so that she stumbles and has to use her free hand to grab onto me so as to steady herself in case she fell. I gave her no time to regain her balance, however, just pushed open the door from the hallway she had indicated earlier was the bedroom and shoved her roughly inside. She fought to stand still when she recovered herself and even managed one moment to breath, before he was with her again, having entered behind her, and had grabbed her by both arms and shoved her again forward, this time onto the bed. She fell forward, half on her stomach, half on her side, then quickly scrambled to turn over before I’m on top of her, she knew by now I won’t wait to see if she is comfortable. Her pain meant nothing, I did not care.