Interracial Mega Bundle (Interracial Urban Erotica)

by Asia Marquis

  Pushing my panties to the side, his fingers press up into my slit and against the right side of my clitoris. Shaking his hand, he vibrates against my clitoris, forcing me to moan and yelp. “Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice full of lust that makes my dripping pussy tingle.

  “Fuck yes it does,” I moan. He pinches my nipple harder now, causing me to gasp. I pull away from him. “Stand up,” I command.

  When he's on his feet again, I can see just how erect he is. His prick looks like it's in pain behind his jeans. Falling to my knees, I unbutton his pants and slowly unzip them, looking into his eyes the whole time. A heat burns between us, a tickle in my stomach causes me to blush as I pull his pants down. Boxers or briefs? Ooh, boxers.

  Slowly, I pull those down too. I breathe in his manly scent, happy that he's clean from a recent shower. His brown pubes are neatly trimmed above and around his 7 inch prick. Jack's penis is thick and heavy, and hard as a rock. Damn, he wants it bad.

  I wrap my hands around it, tugging on it gently. Spinning my hand a bit with each tug, I start to give him a hand job, watching as his head rolls back and he lets out a happy sigh. I straighten my back and open my mouth, sticking out my tongue to lick the precum off the tip of his cock. “Ah!” Jack cries, surprised by the sudden wetness on his prick.

  I lick all around his cock head and down his shaft. My mouth puckers and kisses around his prick, little smacking noises from my kisses filling the room. I twist my hand at the base of his cock and glance up at Jack, happy to see his mouth open slightly as he enjoys my attention. Swirling my tongue around the ridge of the tip of Jack's cock, I suck him into my mouth. I keep moving my hand at the base of his cock as I swallow as much as I can without choking. Still moving my tongue all over his soft black skin, I bob my head, fellating Jack's hard prick in my mouth.

  Lifting up my tongue, I put it at the roof of my mouth and continue moving my head up and down. The change in sensation as he hits the underside of my tongue seems to drive him wild. He runs his hands through my hair and takes control of my head movements as I let my tongue drop again and his prick slides down my throat. I use my hands to gently stroke his heavy balls, knowing soon the sperm from within these will soon be coating my womb.

  Jack forces my head down, his cock slipping deep into my throat and my nose burying into his pubic hair. He holds me there for a few minutes before letting go of my head. “Sorry,” he says. “I lost control.”

  I grin up at him before standing up. “It's alright.” I push him back down on my couch as I pull my shirt up over my head and slide out of my skirt and panties. Jack leans forward and kisses my pelvis, breathing in my girly scent and pulling me close. Placing a hand on my inner thighs, he pushes to spread my legs. He slides down to his knees and buries his face into my cunt.

  Even though I really just want his cock in me, I can't help but enjoy this. His fingers spread me open, making me feel lewd and slutty as his tongue flits in and out of my slit. His wet tongue laps up my juices and presses hard against my clit, forcing me to suck in air and run my hand through his hair to brace myself. The pleasure is making my knees wobbly, and it's almost too much for me. My eyes roll back and I feel an orgasm ebbing closer, so I pull away. “Sit on the couch,” I command.

  Once he's back on the couch, I straddle him. My legs fold under me and his cock, pressed up against his stomach, also presses up into my slit. I rub myself against him, his hard cock hot beneath me. The ridge of the tip of his cock hits my clitoris and sends electricity running through my body. Jack's big hands gently rub around my brown areolas and over my nipples, making them hard. I hump against his cock, my breathing getting heavier. I push my hand against his chest to push me up, using my other hand to grab his cock as my legs swing behind his back.

  I impale myself on his prick. I gasp and my fingers curl as soon as he slides into me, his hot prick filling me up completely. “God,” I moan, sitting still in his lap for a moment before I start to move. I need to get used to him inside of me.

  Sitting like this, he's buried extremely deep in me. I feel the tip of his cock pressed just a bit against my cervix, just enough to feel good. I grab onto his shoulders to use as leverage, and begin to grind my hips against him.

  His hard prick moves around inside of me, pressing against all the right spots. My ass wiggles against him, back and forth and in circles. I lean over and breathe into Jack's ear, hot air that flows past him as he grabs my ass cheeks and spreads them, pulling me even further onto his cock. My lips press against his while I grind against him, our tongues dancing. His mouth is so hot, and his penis is even hotter inside of me.

  One of his hands leaves my ass and presses against my tit, gently manipulating it. He pinches and strokes my nipples while we kiss and fuck. I move faster, my back aching slightly from the motion but my need to cum is over powering the pain. I feel Jack's nails scratch down my back, and I watch as he lays his head back against the couch and groans. He smacks my ass. I moan and gasp each time the tip of his cock slides against my cervix.

  I change my position now, pressing my feet against the couch and lifting myself up. I squat back down. “Aaah,” I moan, savoring the feeling of being impaled by Jack's huge prick again. Up and down, I fuck myself on his prick. I feel him swelling, and I feel my pussy start to pulsate. My inner muscles work his cock while I fuck him.

  He gurgles and an urgency lights up in his eyes, telling me he's about to cum. I fuck him harder, my pussy gripping his cock as my own orgasm tears through me. My juices gush over him, onto his balls and his thighs. Finally, he grabs me and forces me down on him hard, and I feel hot sperm shoot into me.

  The heat is almost too much for me, and it brings on yet another orgasm for me. I shudder and lay my head on his shoulder as my pussy contracts and spasms. “God,” I sigh. I lay against him for a long time before getting up.

  I can see that, now that he's orgasmed, the potion is beginning to wear off. “Didn't you have something to do?” I ask him as I pull my shirt on over my head. He nods, absentmindedly. He'll be in a daze for a few hours.

  We both get dressed, and as he leaves, I place my hand on my stomach and examine myself in my full length mirror. Was he the one? Did he get me pregnant? I flip the sign to say open before going back to the back room to look for something on my shelves.

  I don't have time to wait for a pregnancy test, and I have something better anyway. Another potion. It'll make me warm if I'm pregnant, cool if I'm not. I sit at my desk and read as I wait an hour, which is all the time that's needed before the potion can be used. By the time the hour's up, I realize I've been turning pages but I haven't actually absorbed a single word. I was too focused on what could possibly be going on in my body.

  I hope I'm pregnant, but I'm sure it can't be that easy. The first man I fuck with the intention of getting pregnant couldn't possibly be it.

  I feel a flutter in my stomach, butterflies as I pour the potion. I set it, in the shot glass I got for my 21st birthday, on my desk and stare at it for a moment. Maybe I don't want to know yet. Yes I do. Maybe this is a bad idea.

  Oh, fuck it. I pick up the potion and gulp it down, slamming the shot glass on my desk. I wait. I observe my body.

  I turn cold.

  And the bell on the front door rings, bringing another possible father.

  Single Black Mom's Billionaire

  Luxury and Sex

  “Ohmygosh I am so sorry!”

  My apron, once perfectly clean and white, is now quickly staining an awful red-purple. The glass of wine that is not shattered on the stone floor threatens to slip into my shoes and make me suffer for its untimely demise. The errant hand that drunkenly tipped it over is trying to dab the red off of her dress, and then my apron. There's no chance of her succeeding.

  “No, don't be!” I say, trying to sound cheerful through gritted teeth. I try to smile, but it's more of a twitch. “I'll be right back with a fresh glass for you. Remind me of the year?”

  Dashing ba
ck into the kitchen, my mind screams at me. I want to stand up for myself! I want to tell that rich bitch out there what I think of her antics every time she comes in!

  But then I consider how much money her dress cost, and the idea of that being garnished from my already pathetic wages... Oh, I feel sick.

  The nausea is even worse when I think of my daughter back at home. Amanda, being watched by my saintly mother, growing up in anyone's arms but my own because I have school loans and hospital bills to pay off. Thank God that Dad died before he could see me struggling like this, before he could see me move back in with Mom.

  Today hasn't been the worst day of my life, but it's certainly not the best. I woke up late and so I didn't have time to straighten my wild hair. I had to settle for a flimsy hair tie and a sloppy bun, but glancing in a mirror as I pass by proves that I look as frazzled as I feel.

  Then, my first customer demanded to see the manager because one of my untamed hairs fell into her steak. It didn't really. It was her own hair, but no one believed me!

  And now this. Now I need a new apron, and I know my manager is going to dock my pay for it. I grab one from the hooks as I pass into the wine cellar to pour the clumsy woman a new glass. By the time I take it back out to her, the bus boy has swept up the broken glass and once the woman is nursing her new glass I'm seating a new customer in record time.

  This one, a man, is alone. “Will you be joined by anyone tonight, sir?” I ask, brushing my hair out of my face. I think I feel a zit forming on my forehead.

  “Yes, in a few minutes, but I suspect she won't be staying long. Just bring out two glasses of water and one menu, for me. Thank you, dear.”

  He's older, maybe 50, but his hair is all black and there's barely a wrinkle on his face. What signs there are of his age simply make him look interesting, not old. He has the face of someone who belongs on TV. The restaurant I work in is near DC, so he could be a politician, maybe. Now wouldn't that be something?

  Ah, what am I doing, getting flustered over someone I'll never be able to talk to. He probably barely even sees me as a human being. Let's get real, everyone who eats at La Coste is rich and snobby and looks down at me no matter what I do. I knew that when I got hired.

  The only thing that keeps me going, that keeps me working here, are the tips and Amanda's beautiful face. I know she needs new school shoes for gym, and she'll be turning 10 soon. She's a lot like her mommy. Black, proud of her heritage, and sporting a bit of an attitude.

  For some reason, I feel compelled to bow before turning to leave. Ah, hell, why did I do that? I can hear his chuckles chasing me into the back room. I grab two glasses and start to pour the water when I feel a presence behind me. I turn my head just enough to see my manager out of the corner of my eyes. Fat Pete, as we call him. Behind his back, of course. Never to his fat face. He takes up most of the small hallway where the water pitcher and glasses are.

  “Yes, Peter?” I say, trying to keep my voice pleasant. I don't necessarily fail at it.

  “We need to talk.”

  My heart drops, and at the same time it jumps into my throat. I pour the second glass of water. “About what?”

  “Look, there's no easy way to say this. You don't need to come back after tonight. We've had another complaint that you spilled wine all over a woman and didn't even clean her up.”

  That rotten bitch! I keep pouring. I swallow my pride. “Can we talk about this after my shift?”

  “Sure, but I can't guarantee it will do much to change my mind.” A bead of sweat falls down his disgusting, round face. I smile and nod.

  “Alright, Pete. Thanks.”

  My mind is blank as I carry out the glasses of wine and the menu out to the customer. I round the corner and see that he's sitting with the woman. I stop for just a moment to see if this is a bad time to come over. She's drop-dead gorgeous, silky red hair down to her hips and a body that puts mine to shame. They seem to be talking about something, maybe a little bit heated. I decide to take the water over.

  “Ah, the water! You arrived right on time.” The woman smiles up at me, a cracked, crooked smile. Her eyebrows twitch as she takes the glass right from my hand. Without a second's hesitation, she throws the water into the man's face and stands up. “You're such a fucking pig, Joe. Fuck you.”

  I stand there with my mouth wide open as she storms off. The water is still dripping from his face. He reaches for the napkin, and I leap into action, setting down the remaining glass of water and rushing to help him dry off. “I'm so sorry, let me help you-”

  “Now, what are you sorry about? Did you tell her to do that?” He laughs, taking the napkin from me and pressing it to his face. He's still smiling, shaking his head at some thought. “No, I'm betting you didn't. I knew she was going to throw that water in my face. That's how we met, after all. I watcher her throw a glass of wine in a congressman’s face when he touched her ass, though I can't say I blame him. Anyway,” He looks up at me, his eyes fierce. Something in my chest flutters, that shy sort of feeling that escaped me years ago. “You look like you've had a worse day than me. Why don't you tell me about it? You could sit down.”

  I look at the seat in front of him, then back at him. I shake my head, clutching the serving tray to my chest. “No, I'm not allowed to.”

  “Okay, then when do you get off work?”

  I think for a second. “Are you hitting on me?”

  His laughter fills the whole room. Some of the other patrons stop eating to stare at us. Even the drunken woman watches as this man chats me up. “I suppose I am. Will you answer the question?”

  I'm blown away. Who would hit on me when I'm looking like this? With disgusting hair and black bags under my eyes, and sweat dripping down my forehead? I set my jaw. “Are you making some kind of joke?”

  His eyes widen and he sits back. He must not be used to being challenged. “Not at all!”

  “Well, I'm not allowed to socialize with the patrons, so-”

  “Would it help if I offered to pay you? Maybe... a thousand dollars?”

  A thousand dollars. That could pay for everything that Amanda needs and more! “Well... I just got fired, anyway, so I'd say I get off work whenever you want me to.” I clutch the tray closer to me, using it to shield me from the energy this man is giving off. It's infectious, but I don't want to catch it.

  The thrill on his face reminds me of when Amanda was a child and I brought home ice cream. It was a rare treat then, so she cherished it. “Wonderful! Since this is clearly not an establishment I'd like to give my money to, considering how poorly they treat their waitstaff, what do you say we go shopping and then go to a real restaurant?”

  “Sounds good to me!”

  He jumps up and juts out his elbow. I take his arm, and he leads me to the door. “I'm Joe, by the way. I work with the President.”

  A man with power! How sexy! “I'm Melissa,” I reply, blushing and looking down.

  “I haven't been able to really treat a woman to anything in forever. I've been dating too many heiresses. Where can I take you?”

  We're about to step out onto the sidewalk when Fat Pete storms out.

  “Where the fuck do you think you're going?”

  Joe and I turn around. I nearly stammer out some lame response when Joe cocks his head. “I'm taking my new girlfriend out to buy the most expensive dress we can find. Good luck with your business. I'll make sure you get a visit from the health inspector, I'm pretty sure I saw a cockroach on my way out.”

  Joe's car pulls up onto the road. We both get in, my head racing from how quickly my night has turned around.

  “You look shocked.”

  I nod. “No one's ever gone to bat for me like that.”

  “Really? A beautiful woman like you? I find that hard to believe.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, well, believe it.” My phone vibrates, and I realize I'm still wearing my apron. “Whoops.”

  “Leave it on, it makes you look cute. Go ahead and take the call, I need
to send an email to the President.”

  Nodding, I pull my ancient phone out as Joe pulls out his high tech phone. I wonder who this guy is. I don't follow politics enough to know. I watch as his manly hands, their veins showing beneath his pale skin, types out an email that I can't quite read from the angle I'm in. I look down at my phone, which shows that I missed a call from my mom.

  I speed dial her. The phone rings twice before she picks up. “Hello?”

  She sounds worried. “Hey, Mama. What's up?” I blush, embarrassed that I called her Mama in front of this man that I just met.

  “I got a call from your work, and they said you left. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mama, I'm alright.” God damn it, Fat Pete. “They fired me, so I left.”

  She sighs in relief. “They said you left with a man, though.”

  “Yeah, I met someone. Will you be okay if I come home a little late tonight? How's Amanda?” I whisper my daughter's name, hoping I don't scare off this amazing man who's whisked me off into some fantasy land that I never thought I'd be in.

  “We'll be fine, dear, but are you sure you should be going on dates instead of looking for more work?”

  “Mama, it's not a date. Well, I don't think it is.” I glance over at Joe.

  One corner of his mouth has lifted, his eyes squinting. He mouths, “It's a date.” I giggle, my face bright red.

  “I guess it is a date. Listen, Mama, I'll be okay. You know me.”

  “Alright, dear. Do you want me to wait up?”

  “I don't know. Probably not.”

  We say I love you and hang up.

  Joe takes my arm and pulls me closer. “She sounds nice.”

  “She is.” His body is warm under his suit jacket. He smells like expensive cologne and the alcohol of aftershave. I want to bury my face into his chest and just meditate on his manliness.

  “Who's Amanda?” He asks, wrapping his arm around me.

  “She's, well, my daughter.”

  He nods. I can't tell what emotion it is that's on his face. “How old is she?”