Some girls want to be chased and some girls want to be conquered. I am neither, baby. I am Black Beauty, I am 24, and what I want is a lover. A man who meets me in the middle, desire for desire, and takes his time like the night belongs to us. Let me tell you about Andre, and about last Friday, because last Friday was the kind of slow, sensual sex I dream about on the nights nobody is in my bed.
He came over at nine with wine and nowhere else to be. That is the whole recipe, really. Nowhere else to be. We drank one glass on my couch and never finished the second, because somewhere between his laugh and his hand finding my knee, the talking turned into looking, and the looking turned into the kind of deep, lingering kiss that rearranges your whole evening. I love kissing like that. Hungry but unhurried. His hands slid up my back, my fingers found the buttons of his shirt, and we undressed each other right there, slow, item by item, kissing every new inch of skin as it appeared, his dark hands on my light skin, my body pressing into his like I was trying to memorize the shape of him.
He laid me back on the couch and kissed his way down my whole body, my neck, my breasts, my stomach, taking so long that by the time his mouth reached my pussy I was already trembling. Andre eats a woman the way he kisses her, deep and slow and thorough, his tongue flat against my clit, then sliding inside me, one finger, then two, curling while he sucked me gently, and I came with my hands in his hair and my back arching off the cushions, moaning his name into my own living room. A man who makes a woman come first, slowly, with his mouth, is a man who understands everything. I pulled him up and kissed him so I could taste myself on his lips, and then I slid down his body and gave him the same slowness back, taking his cock into my mouth inch by inch, looking up at him while I worked him with my hand and my tongue, until his knees were shaking and he was begging me, softly, not to make him finish that way.
So we moved to my bed, to the satin sheets, by candlelight, because some sex deserves a setting. He slid into me slow, missionary, both of us gasping at the fit of it, and he stayed deep and still for a moment with his forehead on mine and his eyes locked on mine. That eye contact, baby. That is what I live for. Then he started to move, long, deep strokes, every one of them unhurried, my legs wrapped around his waist, my nails dragging down his back each time he filled me completely. I could feel everything. Every inch going in, every slow withdrawal, my pussy gripping him like it never wanted the stroke to end. I came like that, underneath him, looking into his eyes, my whole body clenching around him in waves while he groaned and held himself deep inside me so I could feel every pulse of it against my walls.
If you have read about the girlfriend moments our girls are famous for, you know a real black girl lover does not stop at one. I rolled us over and rode him slow, grinding, my hands on his chest, my hips rolling in circles so I could feel him everywhere inside me at once, my skin glowing in the candlelight while he watched me like a man watching his favorite view. Then, because we are equals, I leaned down, kissed him deep, and let him flip me and take me his way, harder, faster, from behind with my face in the satin, and we finished tangled and breathless and laughing a little, because sex that good should make you laugh. He came inside me and stayed there, and we laid skin to skin in the quiet while the candles burned down.
He stayed the night. They always want to stay the night, and with me, baby, that is not a complaint. That is the whole point. Round two started in the shower at midnight, but a girl has to keep a few pages of the story for the men who call.
So let me ask you something, honestly. When was the last time a woman wanted you slowly? Not a performance, not a power trip, just a beautiful black woman who wants you exactly as much as you want her, who will kiss you deep, ride you slow, and keep her eyes on yours while you fill her? That is what ebony phone sex was always supposed to feel like, and I am the girl who actually delivers it. Find me on PhoneBuckFuck, a dollar a minute. Come be my lover tonight. I will take my time with you, and I will expect you to take yours with me.