No matter what Leslie said, Craig was not her family and could not really be like a brother to her. In his experience, men and women could not be plat...nic friends; there was always an undercurrent of sexual tension between them. The only variation was how deeply the sexuality was sublimated.After they shook hands, Craig handed him a sealed envelop with his name and address written on the front in Leslie’s hand. ?I don’t know what’s in this envelop but Leslie has asked me to be sure to give it. "Oh Miss I'm so sorry, but I was just trying to release some stress." he said as a look of complete embarrassment over took his face. I give him a sweet sexy smile that assured him he has nothing to be sorry for, them I sat down beside him and asked if there was anything I could do to lend a helping hand. He looked at me with those cold black eyes as he pushed me back onto the back seat of the number 26 southbound bus. Hiking up my skirt and pulling my panties to the side my bus driver started. There is a crackling fire in the fireplace, soft music playing in the background, and another bottle of Dom in an ice bucket next to your make up table. I put you on the settee, and hand you a glass of Dom, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.As you nibble on the sweet fruit and sip the champagne, savoring the way the flavors complement each other, I take your hairbrush and begin to brush your long flowing silky locks. As I carefully brush your hair, my lips and tongue start to nibble. Somehow he had become my owner and I his slave, a slave that worshipped at the altar of his cock. It was true; his cock was like an African idol that I worshipped, a phallic symbol in my mind of the control it represents over my thoughts and actions. Every time I see a black man now I feel the pleasure his cock imparted to me and I am drawn to the man, drawn to please him, to service all his bodily needs and desires. My mind seems to fog with the need for every black man to want me as he did.
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