Gay Interracial - Sex Stories

Gay Interracial

... remembered the first time I touched a girl's tits, the amazement I felt that skin can feel so wonderful, so soft. He bent and started kissing her chest just above the open cotton of her top, adding her scent to the mix of his senses. He sat up and started to pull at the knot of her shirt. Michelle's eyes flashed at Claude. When she saw the fear in his aspect, she became troubled - she gently pushed Anthony's hands away. We all watched intently as she sat up, drew her knees up against her chest, and folded her arms, gathering herself for a moment of reflection. Our world beneath this shady tree hung still on the precipice of her inner thoughts. She looked at her husband; she looked at Anthony. Calm, measuring looks, comparing her husband with the young, hard boy that stared back at her with hungry eyes. "This was your idea," she said to him. "I know," he looked at her, and then looked down as he continued. "I didn't realize how I'd feel . . ." She considered that for a moment. She was looking back at him when Anthony did something extraordinary. He reached over and put his black hand on her thigh and began caressing her, reminding her of what she might have. She stood up and held out her hand to Anthony. "Let's take a walk," she said. He got up; he took her hand and walked with her into the sunlight. They headed towards a line of bushes about a hundred miles away. We all watched them as they walked away. Claude looked sad; for all his study of people and cultures, he had ...

... miscalculated his own response to the situation he wanted to happen. I had no such reservations. I wanted to see my son; I wanted to see him feel the rush of his manhood in the glory of his first fuck. They stayed in the bushes for a long time. When they came out, happiness seemed to radiate from him as he approached. None of us said anything, as if our inner feelings about what had happened between them in the bushes were too deep, too jagged to fit together into words we could share. ** He told me about it the next morning, during the daybreak as we walked up the slopes of Mount Kilamanjaro. He told me how he felt when she lay back and he saw her naked body beneath him in the grass. How stirring it was, how his cock seemed to be controlled by the look in her eyes. And how once he saw her, his hesitation, his boyish uncertainty disappeared in the upwelling tide of desire. I listened and said little. We climbed and watched the sun burn the haze away, and studied the farther reaches of the plains as more of the region became visible. She was smart enough to pace him, knowing that the feeling was too new for him to control it. Rather than have him explode in a quick, passionate release, she held him off. She let him mount her, she gave him a feel of the inside of her pussy. She lay beneath him and let him all the way in, and allowed him some initial strokes. But then she asked him to lay down himself, and then she took over. She kneeled down over him, holding her pussy a foot or two ...