Jungle Fever Ch. 02

This was making love. Her lips, thick and sensitive, fit mine better than any lips I had ever kissed. Her skin, soft and warm, fit my hand better than any skin I had ever felt. The curve of her hip, soft and round, with cellulite dimpling so pronounced that I could feel it, felt more natural under my palm than any hip I had ever caressed.

And that soft humming sound she made as we held that kiss, our bodies touching and our hands exploring, was music better than anything on the charts from any generation.

Time had no meaning. Those silly words, "if I die right now I'd be happy," took on new meaning. Because if I had died right then, I would have died happy.

I felt no urgency. There was none of that need, almost that compulsion, to just climb on and put it in. This was different, somehow, from any woman I had ever been with before. Oh, I don't mean the color of her skin, although that WAS different. My normal approach to sex, which hadn't, when you get down to it, changed much from when puberty struck and I was masturbating a half dozen times a day, was to climb aboard and drain the old dragon. I had learned control, and could usually take the woman I was with to orgasm, but that was just a pleasant by-product, not the goal.

Lying here with Virginia, sharing a thousand tiny kisses, all of that changed. That NEED for my climax was replaced with something beyond need, by a COMPULSION to make certain she was completely satisfied before I even considered my own pleasure.

With that realization came understanding. I knew, so clearly it was almost a biblical revelation, what I wanted to do. What I wanted to give her. And I hoped I was the first.

I pulled away, breaking the kiss that we both worked to hold until our touch broke, and pulled lightly on her shoulder, smiling, gently changing her position.

"I think," I said, leaning forward and giving her a quick kiss, pulling back before she could turn it into something lingering, "that I should finish what I started."

I held her eyes for a moment. Well, we held each other's eyes for a moment.

Her eyes got big.

"David, you..." she started, and I'm pretty sure the next words would have been something like "don't have to do that," but I cut her off with a kiss before finishing her sentence for her with, "want to." Go ahead, Gentle Reader, diagram THAT sentence. I dare you.

I held her eyes and her shoulder for another long five count while she made up her mind to accept my offer.

Which she did, with a softly spoken, "Oh, God," as she rolled onto her belly.

And there it was, what Lionel had told me about, and my culture-corrupted brain had refused to accept.

That big, round ass with enough extra fat that cellulite dimples dotted skin the color of coffee grounds, WAS, with no doubt at all, the mathematically perfect shape for a woman's butt.

I rolled up until I was on my knees beside her, my knees touching her hip, and began lightly caressing her back. I started at the back of her head, my palms brushing that thick, kinky hair and then the skin of her neck, before working my way down to her shoulder blades, my palms following that deep canal formed by the big muscles of her back until I got to the sudden rise at the small of her back where that gorgeous ghetto butt started.

I did that for a while, taking my time, kissing the roundness of her ass, making her giggle when I did.

When she was relaxed, I rolled off the bed and stood at the foot, just admiring her for a minute.

She giggled when I started playing with her feet, gently moving them apart, and then pushing very gently on her knees until she understood what I wanted.

"David, you don't..." she started again, but I talked over her.

"I want to," I said, pushing gently on the inside of her knees.

She moaned a soft, "Oh Jesus," as she moved her knees forward, lifting her ass a little.

I couldn't look away.

The deep fissure of her sex started at the small of her back where her buttcheeks form a sexy delta, almost an arrowhead, pointing down. It ran in an unbroken line then, the crack of her ass following the roundness of her cheeks to the fat pads of her labia showing the bright pink inside, all of the way to the bottom where her clitoral hood, almost a separate body part of dark fat-filled skin, lay against the mattress. That thick, coarse, very black pubic hair covered her labia, thinning to a narrow line that disappeared between those big ass cheeks.

I couldn't look away.

I don't know how long I stood there, mesmerized.

Eventually, I had the image perfectly imprinted on my memory, and I crawled onto the bed, settling with my knees between the big pads of her thighs, feeling that oddly thick skin of her chubrub against the outside of my thighs.

I laid my palms flat on the roundness of her cheeks, right where she sits, and leaned forward, applying a gentle pressure, slowly spreading her.

"David, you don't have to do this," she said, and this time, I let her finish her sentence.

I bent forward and blew softly, a light breeze where I'm sure she never felt a breeze before.

"I'll stop," I said and paused to kiss each cheek just inside of where my palms held her spread, just, in other words, inside of her gluteal cleft, "if you tell me to."

When she sighed but said nothing, I began spreading her wider and exploring deeper into that deep fissure formed by those gorgeous cheeks. The line of pubic hair, so coarse and black I thought I could probably scrub a pot with it, thinned up her taint, her perineum to be proper with my nomenclature, until it was just a fine dark line marking the circumference of the smooth circle of even darker skin surrounding the tiny puckered opening to her rectum.

She shuddered as I slowly spiraled in with my tongue. I lightly tickled the inside of her asscrack with my tongue, right then left, then blew softly, using my strength and leverage to hold her spread when those big muscles clenched from the new sensation I was giving her.

I discovered analingus early in my sex life and realized that for many women, this was a new sensation. It certainly seemed to be with Virginia. I smiled to myself as I heard her fingernails scrabbling against the sheet.

She shivered, and her arousalscent displaced the earthy scent I had been inhaling.

I leaned back enough to look, and sure enough, thick white love nectar was flowing now, making a puddle where her soft mons lay against the sheet.

I bent my neck, scooted forward, my chin dragging on the sheet, until the tip of my tongue felt the hard button of her clitoris. I slowly, very slowly, dragged my tongue up, not licking, my tongue extended as far as I could get it, scooping that delicious honey and then tracing her taint to her asshole, leaving a trail like a snail.

At her anus, I rimmed her slowly, my tongue tracing that smooth circle, spiraling to the smaller puckered circle before opening my mouth wide, covering her skin with my lips, and probing with my tongue.

She shuddered and moaned.

I did that a dozen times before I felt the sudden tension of her orgasm and heard her soft cry of, "Oh JESUS."

I held that position, my mouth covering her, my tongue probing, until I felt her relax.

When all of the tension had left her body, I slowly, reluctantly, pulled away until I could release her cheeks. I just looked for several more seconds, admiring that magnificent ass.

I stretched out beside her then, smiling, meeting her eyes the way she lay with her cheek on the pillow, and asked, "Will you still kiss me?"

She giggled.

"You is one seriously strange white boy," she said.

I smiled.

"Will you still kiss me?" I asked again.

"Yes, Babyboy," she said, "I will still kiss you."

I kissed her. A soft, lingering kiss. She didn't need to move and didn't.

I slowly ran my hand down her back and cupped the roundness of her ass with my palm.

"What kind of woman are you when it comes to anal sex?" I asked, my fingertip probing, finding where I had been touching with my tongue, and penetrating just a little.

She squirmed slightly and asked, "Kind?"

I smiled, holding my position, slightly inside of her with my fingertip, and said, "I've been told, by those I trust, that there are two kinds of women when it comes to anal sex."

"Oh?" she said, smiling, meeting my eyes, "Go on."

"There are those," I said, moving my fingertip in small circles, "who enjoy it, who love, I'm told, that 'deliciously full' feeling."

She squirmed a little, arching her back, offering her ass, humming a soft, "mmmmmmm" sound.

"And?" she asked.

"And there are those who lie and say they don't," I finished, burying my finger all the way into her.

She hissed a sharp intake of breath.

"Well, White Boy," she said, squeezing my finger, "I think I might be the first kind although I've never tried it before."

"It's a very special submission," I said, kissing her lightly, "a claim of possession."

Her eyes got big.

"Possession?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, caressing the soft skin of her face with the fingertips of my free hand, "Ownership."

Her eyes got big, and her forehead creased into a frown, four distinct lines forming.

"OWNERSHIP?" she asked, her voice positively dripping with scorn, her face showing the anger that threatened to explode.

I knew I had to be careful here. I was on a tightrope with no net, and I didn't want to blow this. I liked this woman. I hoped we had a future. She was smart and interesting and had that absolutely fucking beautiful body.

But men and women are different, and I know myself well enough to know that I would never be able to find anything long-lasting with a woman who didn't understand that simple fact of biology and evolution.

I kissed her softly.

Her lips were unresponsive.

"Calm down, Virginia," I said, "it's not about your race, it's about your sex."

The change was so sudden that it was like a switch had been thrown. The frown lines disappeared, just vanished, replaced by the focused concentration of curiosity.

"Okay, White Boy," she said, but there was no smile, "I'm not kicking you out."

I drew breath and she added, "Yet. But you're very close to saying something that will end whatever this is before it really gets started."

She drew a sharp breath as I pulled my finger out and then watched as I rolled out of bed.

"Hold that thought," I said before going into the bathroom to carefully wash my hands.

I spent the time, being more careful than strictly necessary as I washed, composing my thoughts.

She watched as I went back to her, her eyes locked on mine as I crawled into bed.

"Your skin is the color of ground coffee," I started, and she rolled her eyes.

I let a little anger out. Well, not really anger, but try it sometime. ACT angry, and before long, you'll get the physical reactions associated with anger.

I let a little anger show when I snapped, "Do you want to hear me out or do you want me to leave. It's up to you."

We held each other's eyes for a long ten count. It wasn't quite a glare, but it was close.

Finally, she said, "Okay, tell me."

"You're black," I said, smiling, "although you're more coffee bean colored, but that doesn't have anything to do with our relationship."

I paused and then added, "Well, anything beyond certain racial characteristics that I find interesting and attractive."

She didn't smile, but at least her stare eased back a few notches.

"But it's not the color of your skin that makes you want, no, that makes you need, down at some level, to be claimed by a man," I said, and then paused, holding her eyes, waiting her out.

"Go on," she said.

"You're a fairly big, healthy, pretty strong woman," I said, looking her up and down, "but do you have any doubt that I can take you if I want to?"

Her eyes flashed.

"I'd fight," she said.

I smiled.

"Of course you would," I said, "but you'd lose. I don't care how many colored belts you have in your closet or how much time you've spent in the gym, you'd lose because I have all of the natural advantages, the physical advantages anyway, of MY sex."

She started to say something, engaging in the conversation rather than just fuming at me, but I kept going.

"You'd lose because I have more upper body strength. But mostly you'd lose because, way down at the DNA level, down there where instincts rule, you're programmed to lose," I went on.

I took a chance, thinking the first reaction had passed, and kissed her, a light kiss.

"You'd lose because your DNA makes you the nurturer and MY DNA makes me the hunter, the fighter, the defender, the killer if it gets to that," I said. "You'd lose because you'd hesitate to hurt me, even if you knew you had to to protect yourself. And I'd win because I have no such compulsion, down there at the level of instinct. My instinct is to finish the fight. To win."

"And that means you want to OWN me?" she asked, but there was more curiosity than anger now.

"Yes," I said, and brushed my fingertips across that smooth skin of her face, "but only once you've accepted the fact that, way down there, down at the lizard brain, down at the DNA in your cells, you want, no, you NEED to be owned," I said, finishing the argument I had used before with women.

"You're serious," she said, her face showing a hint of a smile around the mixture of residual anger and curiosity.

"Virginia," I said, "I am absolutely serious. But although I am many things, a rapist is not among them. I won't try to force the issue, but when you decide the time is right, I'll claim you and you'll be liberated more than any idiotic Amendment to the Constitution ever could liberate you."

"You is one STRANGE White Boy," she said, but she smiled.

"You is one beautiful negress," I said, "and now I think I'd like to try some of that black pussy."

She laughed at that.

"You're serious," she said again.

"Oh, come on," I said, taking her hand and guiding it to where I was hard, "don't pretend you're not interested in some white dick."

She turned serious then.

"And if I want to claim you?" she asked.

"I might fight," I said.

"But would you win?" she asked.

I grinned then, knowing I had won this round.

"Try me," I said.

She is a big girl and strong, and it quickly became apparent she understood the leverage. In one sudden movement, she used her hand in just the right place for maximum mechanical advantage and the momentum of her body's weight to have me on my back, straddling me.

"You want this black pussy, don't you?" she asked, not smiling now, grinning, the coyote finally catching the damn road runner and about to finish what she started.

"You know I do," I said, moving my hips, trying to get inside of her, but she moved subtly, and I couldn't.

"David," she said, and the use of my name rather than calling me "White Boy" told me she was being serious now, "I don't think I can do what you want me to do."

I smiled. I knew with perfect certainty that she was wrong.

"Then we'll have to settle for this," I said, "and this is pretty damn good."

She smiled then.

"Don't you get in a big hurry now, White Boy," she said, and moved her hips in that way some women seem to understand and accepted me into her body as she pushed herself up into the classic cowgirl position.

She was hot, wet, slick, and tight around me.

She leaned forward, her hands on either side of my head, her breasts pressing against my chest, and kissed me, a hard, delicious, hungry kiss.

I reached around her, my palms on her shoulder blades, and pulled her down until our skin touched in an unbroken contact from where we were joined to where we kissed.

I loved the feeling of her body moving, her muscles strong under my hands, and the slickness of sweat as she worked.

I could feel the changes in the rhythm of her breathing as her orgasm approached. Her hips thrust in a slightly different way, changing the angles, finding the pressures she sought.

In this position, she controlled what we were doing. I felt her breath catch and those final half dozen short, fast thrusts of her hips before she came.

When the orgasm took her, she tried to arch her back, to lift herself off of me, but I dug my fingers into the skin just below her shoulder blades, not allowing her that relief from the intensity of her sensations. She cried out, and her release soaked us both.

As soon as she started to relax, I reached down and dug my fingers into the warm, soft skin of her ass, digging until I found hard muscle, and she cried out a second wave of ecstasy.

"Again," I said, my fingers digging into her ass harder.

"BABY!" she cried, "JESUS."

"AGAIN!" I said, SQUEEZING harder,

She grunted and pushed, her body going rigid with the effort, and her third orgasm in just a few seconds left her sucking air in deep, shuddering gasps.

"Good Girl," I said, caressing her back and ass now, my palms lightly brushing skin.

"How you like that nigger pussy now, White Boy?" she asked, although the sentence would be better written as - -

"How," ((gasp))

"you," ((shuddering exhalation))

"like," ((cough))

"that nigger," ((whistling inhalation))

"pussy now," ((gulp))

"White Boy?" ((hissed exhalation))

"About as much as you like my Cracker Cock," I replied.

I was caressing her back as she relaxed onto me, my hands slowly moving from shoulders to ass and back, my pressure very light.

She finally relaxed and very slowly lifted herself.

"Okay, Cracker," she said, giggling very softly, "you get yours now, but I'm pretty tired," and she rolled off of me and onto her back.

"Relax, Virginia," I said, "relax as completely as you can and let me do the work."

"You is one VERY weird white boy," she said, spreading her legs and relaxing.

"Don't respond, don't move," I said in my best bedroom voice, "just relax and let me do everything."

I could feel her relax under my light caresses and watched as she closed her eyes.

I wondered if she had gone to sleep, she was beautiful as her face relaxed so completely.

There was something amazingly sexy about moving around so my knees were between hers, guiding myself with my hand, and slipping inside of her where she was hot, wet, and very loose.

Her breath caught.

"Don't move," I breathed into her ear, "relax."

She whispered, "Fill me up, White Boy."

"Shhhhh," I said, "relax, don't talk."

It's called somnophilia and I had realized I was aroused by a sleeping woman back in advanced training when a bunch of us had gone out for a binge after finishing one of the rotations and I had hooked up with a college girl who got so drunk she passed out. There was something about taking her as she slept, being careful not to awaken her, that made it even more intense than usual. And no, I didn't use a date rape drug or anything. We did it the first time, and she was energetic as hell. But then, when she went to sleep, there was something I found irresistible, not that I did much resisting anyway.

I took my time, moving slowly, as if she were asleep and would make me stop if she woke.

Taking her this way, so slowly, was almost like edging. She was slick enough that there was no friction, just that delicious, damp warmth around me.

She held still, stayed relaxed, until that final thrust when I came. Then she dug fingers into my back deep and hard enough that I wondered if she had drawn blood, and hissed, "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, fill me up, White Boy."

She raked my back with her nails as my second and third pumps finished my climax.

"No," she said softly as I started to roll off of her, "relax, Babyboy, let me have your weight."

I relaxed, settling onto her, feeling that wonderful combination of softness and strength. I nuzzled her neck, and she giggled.

"Okay, Babyboy, I know what you want," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she pushed, very gently, on my shoulder, and I rolled off of her.

"Here, Babyboy," she said softly, adjusting our bodies so my head nestled in the crook of her arm. She used her free hand to move her breast, brushing her hard nipple across my lips until I latched on like a hungry baby.

"That's right, Babyboy," she cooed, "all you white boys need a nigger mammy as a wet nurse."

I was latched on as she started singing what I always thought of as a negro lullaby in a slightly gravelly contralto.

"Hush little baby, don't you cry," she sang.

As I drifted off.