Love and Black History Month

Here it is, the ever promising, always chilly month of February when the world (and Hallmark) take every chance to remind you to appreciate your loved one and respect the African-American heroes of days past and present.  So, as a tribute to entirety of the month, I'm going to combine them and appreciate a different kind of loved one: the Big Black Cock. 

Oh, yes, I said it.  And, if you've never had one, you absolutely must!  You really must.  It's like never trying proper New York style pizza or southern cooking or a crisp sunrise or the ocean lick your toes!  It's an experience for the books.  Now, I never discriminate on race, creed or gender in my bed, but as there is no other racial appreciation month, I thought I'd just illuminate this one with a story of mine.  One of many, but certainly one of the most unique and enjoyable...

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I had spent all evening with my friends and co-workers...and, as we tended to do, we proceeded to bar hop our way back to our hotel...
After about three bars and several wines, I'd hit my max and decided to cash out and split out on my own. Leaving my team at the bar, I grabbed a cab and quickly found myself in the company of a very dark, esoteric driver. I'd been wearing my sexy stilettos all evening, and my poor feet were extremely unhappy with me. Once in the cab, I tossed off my heels and let out a few moans as I stretched out and wrung my aching feet. The cabbie, watching me intently in his rearview, offered to massage me in his deep Ghanaian accent. I repeatedly declined until the pain (and his accent) got the best of me, and he convinced me to put a foot through the partition so he could offer me some sweet relief.

While paused at the stoplight, I slipped my foot through the opening and into his strong welcoming hand. After several minutes of massaging ecstasy, he smoothly suggested that he could do a much better job in the backseat with both hands on both feet. After some duress, I acquiesced, but only if he promised to keep his hands on my feet and nothing else. He pulled us alongside a well-lit hotel (for my peace of mind and safety), and let himself into the back seat, across from me. Our backs pressed against opposite doors, he pulled my legs onto his lap and got to work on my feet. I lulled off into a seductive trance as he plyed out my aches, from my ankles to my toes, stroke and tug after glorious stroke and tug for what felt like hours. I was so relaxed in my half-drunk, massaging euphoria when I was jolted awake by a very sudden warm, wet and squishy sensation. Oh god. My eyes flew open, only to realize that my toes were, indeed, in this strange man's mouth. After my initial alarm, and somewhat wary reassurance to continue, he coaxed me back into a sensual relaxation I have never known. He confidently licked and kneaded, from ankle to toe, one foot then the next, as I became increasingly aware of his urgent arousal. He gripped my heel fervently, stroking me into his mouth as I felt his cock swelling under my calf. With an easy rhythm, he'd pull one foot to his mouth and push the other along his bulging cock, throbbing inside his slacks. I was suddenly very curious...I had never gotten a man off with just my feet before...could I actually do that?? I could see where this was going, but I felt safe and uncompromised in every way. I was fully dressed, in jeans, naked only from the ankles down and intrigued, if not intoxicated, by possibility. I silently decided I was game, but feet ONLY, I promised myself. He dutifully continued with the alternating cock and foot massage until he gestured if he might take out his big black cock for more direct stimulation. I smirked and nodded. This man had magnificently milked so much pain from my feet, I felt equally compelled to milk the desire from him.

He gently pulled out his glorious black cock, as incredible an organ as I'd ever seen, and allowed me to roll it between my soft, moist feet. He'd suck one foot as I stroked his smooth dark cock with the bottom of the other. Every part of me resisted my carnal instinct to reach out and touch it, stroke it, wrap my lips around it and worship it properly; I was determined to do this with feet alone. I rubbed one foot alongside the shaft while resting my toes, ever so lightly, under the head and making quick, deliberate strokes, trying to mimic two handed stimulation. He let out a long gutteral, encouraging moan, and leaned back to let me work. I stroked with one foot along the bottom of the shaft, and one brushing lightly under the head, then one foot on each side, working separately, then together. Finally, I slipped one foot between his stomach and his hard cock, while using other foot to press up and stroke up the entire shaft, coaxing out a loud, urgent and glorious release all over my feet. After a few moments and several satiated deep breaths, he seductively lapped up every drop of himself from between my toes. With a big sigh and several thank yous (from both of us), he rearranged back to the front and deposited me at my hotel. The meter read $53.12, but after our hour or so of pleasure, I just blew him a kiss and headed upstairs to sleep.  Alone.
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Sometimes the most simple acts can be the most intimate (e.g. foot massaging).  Something to consider before you come pawing at us in your uni-directional horniness next time...

With a lascivious sigh,
JN