Can't Help the Way That I Feel

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “Plus fort. Fort!” Genevieve demanded, thrusting harder to make him understand.

  “Shit, baby, if harder is what you want, harder is what you’ll get.”

  The three of them were now interconnected, with Mark pounding Genevieve’s pussy and Genevieve giving Barb a clit special. The only sounds heard were an Anglo-French mix of erotic ecstasy.

  “Don’t shoot your wad, baby. Save some for me,” Barb requested.

  Mark pulled out before he came and then said, “Switch positions.”

  Barb quickly got up and traded places with Genevieve. She too wanted some of his beef. “I want you to butt-fuck me,” she told him, and then reached into her bag. She took out a tube of lubricant, unscrewed the top and smeared the clear gel on her asshole. After she was finished, Mark took the tube from her and coated his dick with the gooey gel.

  “This night keeps getting better and better,” he mused, as he entered Barb’s ass.

  “Oh, shit, that hurts so goood!” she screamed out.

  Mark fucked her like a man possessed. It wasn’t often that a woman requested a good butt fuck, and tonight, he planned on giving her exactly what she wanted. The fucking was so good that he couldn’t help but cum in her warm ass.

  “That was awesome!” Barb then turned to Genevieve. “I’m sorry, babe, for neglecting you,” she told her in French, “but that chocolate dick was just too good to ignore. Come here and let me make it up to you.” Barb reached into her bag of tricks again, took out a large black dildo, lubed it up, and rammed it into Genevieve’s hot box. Since Mark’s equipment was temporarily deflated, she took over and began fucking her like a wild woman.

  “Oh, oui, oui,” Genevieve sang out.

  Mark watched them go at it and began stroking his dick, trying to resurrect his soldier. He wanted to get back in the game but for now was getting off watching them.

  “Is it good to you, baby?” Barb asked, working the vibrator in and out.

  “N’arrête pas,” Genevieve replied: “Don’t stop.”

  Barb continued until Genevieve’s face twisted in a painfully pleasant expression, indicating that she was cumming hard.

  “My turn,” Barb said, wanting some of the ever-ready vibrator.

  Genevieve slipped her fingers into Barb’s pussy, making sure it was wet before ramming her with the dildo.

  “Fuck me, bitch!” Barb yelled out.

  “Prends-lae salope,” she replied, saying “Take this slut.”

  Genevieve kept working the wand until Barb screamed out. “Oh, shit, I’m cumming. I’m cumming!”

  Mark’s eyes were glued to them, as he jacked off. He felt his cream rising to the top, so he got up and stood over the women. As soon as Barb reached the pinnacle, he sprayed them with a stream of hot juicy cum, and then collapsed onto the bed.

  Their heated sexcapade had worn them out, and they fell into a deep sleep. Genevieve awoke in the middle of the night and glanced over at her lovers, who were still sound asleep. Her vacation had gotten off to a grand start, and if nothing else exciting happened while she was in the States, that would be okay. She had experienced fucking a black man, and a woman; now she was ready to go back to Paris, get married and start a family.

  It was unclear what had possessed her to act with such wild sexual abandon, but she had no regrets. With a satisfied smile on her face, she shrugged her shoulders and thought, Je n’y peux rien, je suis comme ca. “Can’t help the way that I feel.”

  LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION…

  Introduction by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  Temptation is the fuel for a fully expressed life.

  —Lori Bryant-Woodridge

  Now that you and your imagination are revved up and ready to purr, allow yourself to be led into temptation with the following tasty, to-be-continued story bites designed to get your creative (and other) juices flowing. Make this erotic tome uniquely personal by picking your favorite sexy starter (or choose all three) and finishing your own sultry tale on the blank pages that follow. Don’t feel the need to complete these stories on your own. By all means, grab your favorite lover and spend the night researching and then writing your personal erotic tale together. Turn this exercise into a special date night. Light some candles, uncork a bottle of your favorite wine and grab a pen. Take turns reading the stories and suggesting what scenes should come next. Before you know it, you’ll have written a story of your own and fired up a lot more than your imaginations! As a sensuality coach, I often give this exercise to my clients as an exercise to help free their sensual muse and build intimacy and sexual communication with their partners. My single clients find it to be a real confidence booster as well. I think you will too.

  Explore the fantasies lurking in your head, and find out for yourself how much fun and how liberating it is to write about things that go bump and grind in the night!

  LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION…

  SHAVED BY THE BELLE

  SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. FUCK. DAMN!”

  The stream of curse words that come tumbling out of my mouth seem wholly appropriate for the disastrous situation I currently find myself in. I have a little over an hour before my husband gets home for his surprise anniversary celebration. But instead of finding the smooth, shaved pussy of a wanton wife awaiting him, he is going to find my tortured tinklebelle that now looks like it has been deforested by a circus chimp armed with a fucking weed whacker.

  My DIY job went terribly wrong and now I’m standing here sporting a gruesome patchwork of pubes. Sad and unsightly? Hell, yes. Smooth and sexy? Not so fucking much. Now what? It is too late to get an appointment, and I have no idea who or where to call anyway. There’s only one thing left to do: call in the cavalry.

  “Please be home. Please be home,” I pray aloud as Tamara’s phone continues to ring. After six rings, she finally picks up, sounding either sleepy, high or freshly fucked.

  “I need help,” I announce. The panic in my voice must have cut through her yet-to-be-determined fog because she perks right up.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Should I call nine-one-one?”

  “Just get over here, NOW!” I hang up the phone and immediately burst into tears. I really want my romantic dinner and sexy unveiling to be perfect, but things are off to a bad start.

  Tam lives about fifteen minutes away, and while I wait for her, I decide to set the table and put the pork tenderloin, Brooks’s favorite, into the oven. By the time I have it all prepped and am sliding it into the oven, I hear Tamara’s frantic knock on my door.

  “Girl, what’s happened?” she cries out as soon as she is inside.

  “You have to fix it!” I say, as I fling my black silk robe open to reveal my clumsy handiwork.

  Tam bursts out laughing. She just stands there chortling and damn near choking at my expense. “What the fuck…ha…ha… have you done to your damn self?”

  “Just shut up and come fix it,” I demand, grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the bedroom.

  “Fine, but you owe me. I’d planned on staying in all night and fucking myself silly. I scored some of the best clit weed I’ve had in a long-ass time.” Clit weed is Tamara’s term for marijuana that goes straight to her clitoris, making it fat, hard and way, way orgasmic. She isn’t a pothead by any means—that is until it comes to clit weed. Then she’s a fucking junkie.

  “Whatever. But you have to do it quick. Brooks will be home in less than an hour.”

  “Okay, let me take a good look.” I pulled my robe open again, allowing her to peruse the situation. “Only thing you can do now is shave the damn thing bald.”

  “What the fuck do you think I was trying to do?”

  “Calm down. I need a razor, shaving cream, a bowl of warm water, a towel and a match.”

  “A MATCH? What the hell do you need a match for?” I ask, while visions of bushfires blaze through my head.

  “To light my joint so you can take a hit, calm the fuck down, and let me do what I need to do so I can get
back to what I want to do.”

  “I don’t need a joint to relax.”

  “I’m about to put a sharp razor all in and around your pussy lips. You’re already aggravated and in a hurry. Need I go on? Just take a hit and let’s do this. Time is a-tickin’ and you want to be ready for your anniversary lickin’.”

  “Tee-hee,” I say sarcastically as I speed off to get the requested items. I return and take a couple of tokes before passing it to Tam. She declines, declaring she’s already had enough, and instead pops in her mouth some “curiously strong” spearmint Altoid gum.

  “You’re not too high, are you? I’m not trying to replace my pubic hair with Band-Aids.”

  “Shush and let me concentrate. This shouldn’t take long to clean up.”

  I do as I am told and lie back on my bed, naked under my open robe, with my knees up and resting together. Suddenly it dawns on me—even for the best of friends, this is a truly up-close-and-personal situation, and for that reason, and all the others she espoused, I am happy Tamara brought that joint.

  “Open,” she says, gently prying my knees apart and applying shaving cream to my crotch. She works the cool froth into my pubic area and begins to pull the razor across the top of my mound and down the lips of my pussy. I close my eyes as I feel and hear the gentle scraping of wiry hair remnants being removed. Tam herself makes no sound as she works quickly and gently. I listen as she swishes the razor through the bowl of water and taps it against the edges. Tamara returns her hands to between my legs and pushes my knees closer to the mattress, scraping the hair away. Again I hear swish, swish, tap, tap and then once again feel her hands moving back in. Only this time, I feel cool metal against my sensitive pussy lips. The clit weed is really kicking in because I feel deliciously vulnerable splayed wide open as she runs the razor up my tender, naked skin. My pussy is actually tingling and I am loving the sensation. My clit hiccups as my nipples harden in response.

  Tamara gently separates my labia and shaves away the remaining stubble. A moan has been sent by my brain but my mouth refuses to release it. My breasts and clit are screaming in tandem for attention. This shit feels sexy and slutty and fabulous as hell! I am definitely aroused and I force my eyes to stay shut, afraid that any movement will give me away. “Almost done,” Tamara whispers. A waft of peppermint reaches my nose and adds to the sensory delight. “I’ll be right back.”

  I have no idea where she is going but take the opportunity to slide my hand down past my thigh. The skin of my hand comes into contact with pudding soft folds of flesh. My tinklebelle is as smooth and soft as, yes, a baby’s behind. The sensation is amazing and immediately I am craving the touch of tongue on my bare belle. As my left hand gives each nipple a quick pinch and a roll, I start to move my right hand toward my dying-to-be-sucked clit but stop when I hear Tamara’s footsteps approaching. She says nothing but I hear the sound of friction made by two hands being quickly rubbed together. Within seconds I feel a warm slickness being spread around my aching pussy. I smell roses and know immediately that she has found my body oil and is rubbing—no massaging—my hairless twat. I feel every rub and gentle tug like I’ve never experienced them before. My vagina is much more sensitive without the jungle. Why had I taken so long to do this?

  Some of the oil has dripped down into the crack of my ass and as I am enjoying the slippery sensation along with my pussy massage, I hear a gentle buzz fill the room. The pleasure of this marijuana-enhanced sensation is too tempting and I am still unwilling to open my eyes to investigate. I feel the lips of my pussy being gently tugged open and feel a wet, gooey mass seduce my clit with a perfectly modulated vibration. Within seconds, I feel a cool, peppermint thrill spread up and down the thin walls of my vagina. Tam circles my engorged bud with the vibrator and I can feel my juicy wetness drip down my hairless valley and pool beneath me.

  I hear a moan and the sound of Tamara gulping back her arousal. She too is turned on by all of this and I decide if I just don’t open my eyes, this can remain a true fantasy and neither of us will have to deal with the embarrassment of this delicious, unintended seduction.

  The hurts-so-good burning sensation is intensified when Tam leans over and blows her peppermint breath directly on my clitoris. Immediately, it begins to throb and she responds by firing it up with intermittent waves of battery-operated bliss. I feel a gummy concentration of cool at the tip of my nib, still not knowing what it is and frankly not giving a damn because I am so close to spraying pussy juice right in front of my best friend that it’s not funny.

  I want to let go so badly, but I am embarrassed.

  “It’s okay. Let it go,” she says reading my humiliation and granting me permission to detonate. She ups the vibration a notch and within seconds I am coming in waves and waves of pleasure. My hands automatically cup my breasts, pulling at my nipples, which intensifies my orgasm. Tamara continues to rub my bare and swollen pussy, watching in fascination as it twitches and pops.

  I relax into the fading tide and open my eyes in time to see two things: Tamara pulling her wad of gum from my pussy and sticking it back into her mouth, and Brooks walking through the bedroom door.

  Please do continue…

  LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION…

  TAKE A MEETING

  You pause on the sidewalk in front of his building. You’ve never done anything like this before. But then again, you’ve never met anyone like him before. Whoever first uttered the cliché, “took my breath away,” had obviously spent time in the presence of this magnificent specimen of a man.

  It isn’t that his looks are particularly outstanding. Oh, he is damn fine all right, but not in the meet-my-stylist, Hollywood way that most girls swoon over. He is masculinity personified, with a combination of divergent qualities that make him so very tempting: tough but awkwardly tender; intellectual, yet street savvy; sophisticated, yet down with the cause.

  He has the timeless physique of an athlete whose ego still gives a damn—tall and lean with runner’s legs. His perfect head is bald, with a slight sheen that beckons to be kissed; his skin is the color of dark chocolate pudding and just as soft and creamy to the touch. His sable, brown eyes are magnetic. They have a piercing quality about them, not hard or intimidating, just a haunting and unforgettable pull to them. But the true lure is his smile. This man has a slightly gapped grin that lights a fire in his warm, sexy eyes and pulls at the corners of his mouth before erupting into a happy homicide kind of smile. We’re talking killer, drop-you-to-the-floor deadly.

  You hadn’t realized just how lethal until he flashed it at you one evening at a party. You’d seen him at other events around town because as big as Manhattan is, the African American social circle is pretty intimate. You’d never exchanged more than a few polite words, but the few you did—though nothing very special—were transported on communication lines powered by sensual electricity. Every “hello” was foreplay. Every “nice to see you” was tantamount to a kiss. And every damn “good-bye” held the promise of a lusty “hello.” It got to the point that you dressed for everyone of these events with him in mind. Every body-enhancing dress, every spritz of perfume, every pair of stiletto, come-fuck-me shoes, was chosen with the hope that he would be there, that he would notice, find you across the room and look into your eyes, smile that wicked smile, and be your hot-ass fantasy for the rest of the week.

  You knew this fine financier was unmarried, but he always showed up at these events with the same woman, so you assumed that he was happily attached. You also assumed that your sexy attraction to him was one sided, so you did nothing, said nothing, implied nothing. As far as you were concerned he was your secret fantasy and that was all it would ever amount to.

  That is until Nelson Mandela came to town. God bless that man. His masterful legacy of orchestrating his nation’s transition from apartheid to democracy not only freed a people, but was the catalyst in you gaining your sexual freedom as well. True, no match in the big scheme of things, but in the small corner of y
our little world it felt like a global event. Had Mr. Mandela not come to Radio City Music Hall to celebrate the first International Mandela Day with his supportive and proud American brethren, your lust, your love, your life would have been forever imprisoned.

  It was there, in the ballroom of the lobby of the concert hall, that he, Mr. Killer Smile, appeared by your side and spoke the words that set destiny in motion and led you to this spot today in midtown Manhattan: “I can fuck for hours without coming,” he said matter-of-factly. “And right now I want my dick deep inside your pussy.”

  Now, another place, another time, another mouth, you would have been highly offended. But not this night. Not with this man. You were two people with like minds. You smiled and gently bit your lower lip, something you tend to do when you are very turned on, but unfortunately, no other words were exchanged as his escort appeared and whisked him off to take their seats. You were left there alone, desire dripping down your legs.

  In the six days that have passed, you have replayed those words at least ten times a day in your head. You have driven yourself mad with wonder, with wilting willpower, and gone wild with lust. You want this man. And this is the day you will have him.

  So here you are at 2:53 p.m., standing on the sidewalk in front of his office building. He has no idea that his three o’clock appointment is with you. You are about to walk into his office, wearing nothing but black heels and a sheer red bra and matching panties under your coat, and have your way with the man whom you have spent months fantasizing about. You are tired of taking things into your own hands. The phantom fuck is over. Today, it’s about the real thing. Today, it will be his hands, not yours, his mouth, his tongue, his dick bringing you to orgasm.

  You walk purposefully through the lobby and gratefully find yourself alone in the elevator. The doors close and the thought of ascending into his space sends a gush of longing through your body. Desire leads your hands inside your coat and you fondle your nipples in preparation. They immediately react, becoming hard and sending electric currents to your clit. It’s a long ride to the seventy-fourth floor and your pussy is demanding attention, so you pull a two-inch bullet vibrator from your pocket and tuck it into your G-string, placing it directly on your engorged bud. You squeeze your legs and do a few quick kegels, causing your ass to clench and pelvis to push forward in search of his dick. Your nipples continue to react to your twisting and pulling, causing your sex muscles to twitch and jump even more.