Dr. Erica Beauchamp Surrenders - Sex Stories

Dr. Erica Beauchamp Surrenders

... lightheaded with desire, and if my life depended on it I could not have pulled my gaze from what was developing before me. The band of his boxers slid snugly down his thighs, unveiling a dense mat of course, black hair, and the magnificent shaft of his sex: thick, black and not brown, and veiny. It was constrained by the tension of the waistband. I had the boxers nearly halfway down his thighs and still it was held in check. More and more of the beautiful shaft appeared as I stared in wonder, lips parted, trembling slightly. Finally it broke free and swung upward at which point I gasped audibly. I looked up, politely asking him to spread his legs just a bit. He could not since his thighs filled his boxers so fully, and so I asked to lower them further for just a moment. He nodded 'Yes', again. I tugged them down to his knees where they slipped to his ankles before falling off altogether. So there he was in all his glory. Ben was leaning back on his hands with his legs slightly spread as I had instructed him; his breathing labored and his eyes burning through mine. His full testicles were resting heavily on the edge of the table between his legs; his magnificent, uncircumcised black phallus pointing straight at me. It was at least 10" long, so dark it appeared black except for the purple head peaking from the foreskin, and almost perfectly straight though with the slightest curve forward as if it were straining under its own weight. It was nearly as thick as my forearm, ...

... heavily embroidered with veins, with a huge, helmet-like head. And it was dripping. By now my genitals were a frothing mess and my nipples so hard they felt like they would break and fall off. Still I resolved to remain professional. Ben's member was cantilevered over his testicles, and so I gently held it out of the way with my right hand: its solid weight made me shiver with delight as it twitched with his heartbeat. I then reached out and took his right testicle in my left hand, rolling and probing it with my fingers, lingering before examining the left one. I reveled in their firmness, dampness and heat, in the musky scent that was wafting up to my nostrils. My own breathing was ragged and I gave up trying to hide it. Of course his testicles were perfect like everything else about him; hardly surprising as black men rarely suffer testicular cancer or even nodules. They enjoy too much testosterone for anything to go wrong there. Each testicle was perfectly formed, filling my hand completely. I stood there with Ben's left testicle in my hand as I completed the examination. Part of me, the respected professional, wanted to send this young man on his way. To do my job, fulfill my oath, and earn the trust of my community. Another part of me wanted to surrender and get on her knees. Which side would prevail? I stood in silence, contemplating my possible actions and their potential consequences. I made my decision. I looked into his eyes as I released him, then ran my soft fingers up ...