Delayed for a month, winter descended with a vengeance. I was at work, and not really aware of it, but the lights did flicker in the computer room as the main power died and the generator took over. I didn’t know how bad it was until I walked out to the car.
The wet snow had created some very high drifts before turning to rain. As it came down, it had begun to freeze, and the trees, wires, etc. were covered by a shining coat of icicles. The morning sun, just rising, shone thru making them almost pretty. I decided I could probably get home, but I was unprepared for the slipperiness of the roads once I got outside of town.
I was able to negotiate the main roads if I went slowly enough, but the back roads were another story. I crawled along until I approached the first hill, and could not seem to get a purchase. I backed up, and tried to get some speed, but to no avail. Rear-wheel drive just didn’t cut it. I knew I had two more hills to go. I was just about to give up when a truck approached from the other direction, and stopped.
Two men got out and pushed my car up the hill. They advised me to park in the next driveway I saw, and I followed their advice, thinking they would offer to drive me home, since I was only a few miles away. But as I locked the car, and got out, I saw them get in the truck and drive away.
Son of a bitch.
Or two, actually. But wouldn’t that be “sons of a bitch” versus “son of a bitches”?
So I walked. The rain increased, and I began to get quite wet and cold. When the next vehicle came up from behind and stopped, I got in, shivering.
The driver, a pleasant-looking middle-aged black man, asked how far I was going. I told him and he said he’d drive me home, even though he lived right around the next corner. He handed me a paper towel, and I soaked it wiping my face. “Pretty wet to be out there today, huh?” he noted. I nodded, shivering. The truck’s heater blew warm air across my wet face. Great, I’ll smell like a dog.
As he rounded the next curve, we both saw the branches in the road. He stopped and we checked to see if we could move them. They covered an electric cable which also lay in the road. Regretfully, he turned around.
“I guess we should go back to my house to use the phone,” he said, “Your husband will be worried and I need to call my wife, and tell her not to leave work. It’s too dangerous.” That made sense, I could ask Tom to meet me at the tree. Maybe I could walk around it, miss the wire?
When we got to the house, the man picked up the phone to call his wife. It was dead. He decided to see if he could figure out where the line was broken. Then he noticed my shivering, and noted how wet I still was, and he suggested I go into the bathroom and dry off, while he was working. I did so, gratefully.
“Take a warm shower if you need to,” he called over his shoulder, “And throw your wet clothes in the dryer. It’s right in the bathroom. I may be awhile.” I did, and the water felt heavenly. I felt in no danger, since I’d locked the door, and I took my time. The bath had a pretty serious array of bath oils, and I got out of the shower for a second, leaving the water running, to try them out. I was sampling one of them, standing naked in front of the mirror rubbing it over myself when there was a short knock, then the other door, the one which I’d not noticed, the one which presumably led to a bedroom, opened, and a hand holding a dressing gown reached into the room.
“Here, you’ll need this….. while your…. clothes dry,” he trailed off, seeing me standing there in the nude, rubbing the oils into my thighs, as if masturbating.
We were both quite aware of the scent of my body, as we stood speechless and stared at each other for a very long moment.
I was humiliated, but sensed that he really hadn’t planned this; he’d thought that the shower running meant I’d be in it. Still…he’d stripped off his wet clothes as well, and stood bare-chested in his gym shorts.
I noted a flush rising under his tanned skin, and a bulge rising in his shorts. Unable to look in his eyes, I looked down and saw his taut stomach, his large hands, and his cute, rounded tush.
As I finally met his gaze, he suddenly stepped forward, as if propelled by an involuntary force, and lifted me bodily, carrying me into the adjoining bedroom, pinning my arms to my sides. His breath came in ragged gasps, his excitement taking him over.
Incredibly, so was mine. I could hear my own harsh breathing, as he lowered me onto the bed on a pile of pillows, and parted my legs with his knee. He paused for a minute to pull off his shorts, freeing his impressive penis, which he took in his hand and guided it between my wet, greasy thighs. I watched in the dresser mirror over his shoulder as he entered me slowly and deliciously, stretching my pussy wide, filling me completely, his gentle movements a huge turn-on. It felt massively, excitingly big.
This was technically a rape, since I hadn’t consented to any of this, but I hadn’t protested or fought either. I didn’t scream, unable to believe it was real and not some bizarre daydream. I wasn’t sure if he would’ve gone any further if I had protested, but I thought he might’ve been just as unable to stop himself as I was. It just was not in my nature to resist too violently if someone was determined to have sex with me. It would not kill me, I thought. Unconsciously, I think I wanted to be ‘raped,’ if it could be relatively non-threatening. I know that my rape fantasies were some of my best, but I never intended to provoke a rape, knowing that the reality would probably be very different.
Anyway, he wasn’t asking.
His tanned buttocks contrasted starkly with my white legs, and from my position on that huge pile of pillows, I could occasionally see his long black penis as it pulled out of my pale thighs, only to be buried again. It was a very erotic sight, and I could feel my body responding, saw it rise up to meet him as I watched his dark hands grip my pale cheeks for leverage to drive that thing harder and harder into me. I felt my groin tingle as his crotch rubbed and ground my clitoris, and he groaned as my muscles responded by gripping him tighter. I could feel the hard thick head of his cock deep, deep within me, thrusting into areas which had not been stroked by a man before.
His chest hair scratched at my breasts, and my nipples hardened immediately. A moan in my throat, I dug my nails into his buttocks, pulling him into me, and thrust back. He grunted in surprise and rose up to thrust even deeper and I felt the unmistakeable stirring, a huge orgasm building as he stroked my inner depths and his crotch bumped deliciously into mine. I felt him start as my muscles clamped tightly around his cock, and it swelled huge, plunging deep into me and setting off an unbelievable burn. I listened to a voice groaning low, deep in the throes of passion, and realized it was me. He thrust in one more time and froze, holding himself rigid, his cock in me to the hilt, and I wriggled under him to a fantastic explosion. He collapsed onto me, cock still buried in me and his sperm ebbed out, filling me, spreading over my thighs and onto the bed in a sticky mess.
I waited until we’d both gotten our breath back somewhat, and he rolled off, then I asked “So, what’s your name?”
He rose on his elbows to look into my face, and didn’t respond right away.
“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to call you ‘Mr. Rapist’. I always wanted a zipless fuck.”
He grinned, embarrassed, but game. “Okay. I’m Terrence, and I’ll be your rapist this evening.”
Chapter Two
As the passion cooled, the steam we’d generated dissipated, leaving me feeling a bit limp. My companion seemed somewhat embarrassed by it all as well. We sat without speaking for awhile, his hand idly stroking my breast. Unable to break the silence, I looked into the mirror, as his dark hand, lowering to my thigh, was caught framed against my shockingly pale midsection. It had been a long time since I’d tanned.
In the mirror, his dark body glowed with a sheen of perspiration. I’d never seen a black person naked before. Somehow his penis, though flaccid, did not seem to shrink to insignificance when limp the way so many white ones did. Intrigued and eager for something to do, I cupped it in my palm. The stickiness of sperm and my own juices covered my hands, and I rose, going to bathroom to wash them. I saw him watching me in the mirror, his eyes lingering on my buttocks, and I tingled as I always did when men viewed me as an object.
After returning to bedroom with a wet washcloth, I gently rinsed the sperm from his pubic hair, and where it had puddled around his sac, his penis responding immediately to the warm water, stretching, hardening.
I took him gently into my mouth, wondering how in the world I would manage. This was a porn-movie cock, and I was sort of clueless about how to work it. He pressed in welcoming the feel of my mouth, but held back, and I was grateful. In my mouth it grew some more.
He stopped, took the cloth from my hand and gently swabbed my pubic mound before dipping into my vagina and removing all traces of him.
His large callused fingers lingered on my outer lips, gently probing in, and again I felt the unmistakeable signs of arousal. Softly, I took his penis again, and felt it become firm in my hand, as he pushed me back onto the bed, and I watched in the mirror as he lowered his head to my chest. I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue circle my areole softly, as his hand cupped my other other full breast, his palm brushing across the nipple slowly teasing it to erectness.
I fondled his stiffening penis, reaching under him to cup his testicles, and he caught his breath. Then I felt his hand cup my groin, and I spread my legs, preparing myself for his entry.
It did not come.
His fingers traced my lips, dipping into my vagina and probing, and his thumb found my clitoris. As he pressed and prodded, I felt myself responding quickly, my buttocks twitching and jerking. Suddenly I felt an orgasm building again, and then he stopped.
“Why….?” I gasped, opening my eyes.
In the doorway stood a muscular young black man, his eyes frozen on both of us. “Son,” Terrence said softly. “This is not what it looks like…”
Expressionless, the young man turned and walked away. “I believe it is exactly what it looks like,” he said over his shoulder.
Terrence jumped up and stared after him. “What…? What should I…?”
I had no response. How could I tell him his son was also my personal trainer?
erosexuality 