Gay Interracial - Sex Stories

Gay Interracial

... each other, we still make love with tenderness and real affection. Every night we lay in each other's arms and settle asleep, warm and safe in a love that will last forever. In fact, we love each other more since we've had all these young stallions -- it's like the erotic drive I was satisfying in the stalls of City College was brought back home. I didn't do that anymore, because these frequent adventures with Lori and these black strangers had become far more thrilling for me. Every few weeks we have a new one. Another black steed gets to blow his love juice off in our marriage bed. Now I go down on them, now Lori watches while I kneel down and mouth her new lover-to-be, I work him like a trainer, getting him ready for the main bout with her pussy. And she has dark needs of her own, needs that are unspoken but known well by me. She likes to tell the men that she's never had anal sex. Ever. But she's curious. She want's them to talk her into it. Persuade her. Tell her they'll be gentle. And she turns over and lets them in. Just a bit though, just enough to get them started, and then she says: "No. Please, stop. You're too big." She knows just when to say it, she waits long enough that she knows they won't stop. She's refined this game of hers over the years, she's worked on her timing, her tone of voice, her body language. All so she can draw the man into the exact scene she wants - she wants to be taken, she wants to feel his raw, dominant power as he forces himself all the ...

... way inside her. And she's had, and I've accepted, the most secret desire of all satisfied. I don't know which one it was. Whether it was the Franklin K. Lane High School Senior; the high jumper who was good enough to later make it to the Olympic trials; the police Lieutenant from Newark who told us he had fathered 23 children, and we believed him. There were so many of them, impossible to tell which. But one of these men was the father of our boy, Tony. She never asked me if she could, she never told me before he was born. She knew she didn't need to. She was sure enough of my reaction that she gave me a bright, fearless smile in the delivery room. And I smiled too, because when I saw little Anthony, when I saw his glorious dark color I felt - awed. His skin was as black as night; in all our scrutiny of these men, all our care to select only the finest, only the sexiest of that wonderful breed we had chosen well. Whoever his father was his bloodline rode through Lori clear and undefiled. I had loved so many black men, and now I would love one as a father. ** Anthony is 13 now. We get looks from people. I'm a pale blond, Lori is a dark Italian. Christina is 15, and she has my coloring. While her eyes are brown and she has Lori's olive complexion, her long hair is almost as blonde as mine. But Anthony is as black as any pure African. So everyone looks and wonders, but they say nothing. We see the way they look at him, but we don't care. We know we are all different. Lori and I ...