Best Black Women's Erotica 2 Read Online Free

they finished trimming, and then he started chattering something about his week. Even the snipping seemed to clip in the same rhythm, one-two-three.
    I felt exposed, but my visit with Biira was unfinished. Daudi had unknowingly interrupted something terribly delicious. I clearly wasn’t going to be able to get it back with an audience. Especially an audience of my lover.
    Unfortunately, too soon the rhythm of Penninah and Biira ended. They seemed to know they were now unwanted. They briskly cleaned the littering hairs from the floor, collected
payment, and breezed out of the door in almost the same way they came in. From the doorstep I stood watching them, especially Biira, as the evening breeze lifted her skirt from her hips. Thanks to the now-shining sun, I could see the slight silhouette of her thighs through the fabric. She didn’t turn, she just disappeared with Penninah through the black iron gate of our compound, and the watchman closed the latch behind them. Clearly my tangle with Biira, albeit purely mental, was nothing, I rationalized. I was obviously just really horny. As the gate clanged shut, I felt Daudi’s familiar hands circle my stomach. “Your hair looks nice.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, turning to him.
    Our bodies felt humid as we, against all local social taboos, tongue-kissed publicly on our doorstep. I am sure we drew the horrified stares of our missionary neighbors, but I didn’t really care.
    As I pressed my groin against his, Biira’s tapping fingers seemed to disappear. Perhaps her imagined touch was merely an appetizer as I remembered all the familiarity of this man.
    While it is hard to run upstairs in flip-flops, while stripping naked, we made it to our bedroom just as the pinkening-dusk sky started to stain our white curtains. As we somehow fell sideways on our mattress, I could smell the toxic beginnings of burning garbage seeping through the screen. We lay there for a minute, Daudi’s body cupping my backside, then he slipped his fingers in me, feeling the wet remnants of my adultery. The swell of his dick against my ass assured me he thought it was all about him.
    â€œDid you miss me, Bwana?” he gruffly whispered against the back of my neck, now covered with braids.
    I didn’t answer, I just rolled backward and lifted my ass so that I could grind my hips on his until he entered me. After some twelve hours of foreplay, making love was out of the question. I needed Daudi to fuck me. Daudi knew my rhythm
and asked no questions as he rolled me over with force to enter me from behind. There was absolutely nothing like the way his dick filled every corner of my slick core, the way his balls danced against my ass with each hopeful thrust of his hips.
    â€œWhere are you, Bwana?” I eventually asked, as his middle finger so deftly massaged my clitoris. “I’m not gonna last long,” I warned.
    â€œI’m at eight,” he huffed. We often played a numbers game: putting numerical values on our proximity to orgasm.
    Good, I thought. As our scale was one to ten, ten being climax, I would not have to feel that little tingle of guilt that sometimes riddled my gut after belting out an orgasm, and leaving him to pump for himself.
    With that encouragement he slid both of his hands to my hanging breasts, gripping them like bicycle handles, and continued to thrust into me. With a twist of my body I gently coaxed him to his back. My swollen pussy needed the attention that only “woman on top” could most often achieve, and I ferociously gripped the wooden headboard as I lowered myself onto his graciously slick and standing dick.
    The corners of Daudi’s eyelids wrinkled with a slight encouraging smirk as he grabbed my hips and aided my undulation. I shut my eyes just as my upper thighs clenched and I felt the rumbling rise of glorious orgasm fan itself from the base of my spine and rise through my ass. With each slurping dig of my